


The Petty Banished

by TeaThings



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Amora the enchantress - Freeform, Amorki, Asgard, F/M, Frigga - Freeform, Loki - Freeform, Marvel - Freeform, Sif - Freeform, Thor - Freeform, amora - Freeform, amora needs love and attention, amora/loki - Freeform, asgard's fiinest, darcy jane and mortals later, extensive shipping, fandral and lorelei hook up, frigga wants sigyn to leave, loki needs love and attention, love later on, needs a prequel, probably mature later, sif is cool, simple math guys, some emotion, some violence, starts with lots of anger of course, the summary sucks please ignore it, theres a cat, where sigyn screws everything up, wheres odin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5970781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaThings/pseuds/TeaThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beautiful and talented sorceress, Amora the Enchantress returns to Asgard after her long, unnerving exile. While she intended for Magic and Mischief to be left in the dark past, it only happens to find her again in the form of emerald eyes and raven locks. Along with everything else she loved and desired, she hopes to keep it close this time. Instead of the carefree, young and spirited self young girl she was, she evolves into a scheming, wicked sorceress alongside her silvertongued companion. The chance of power and control is at her fingertips, but is that what she wishes? With Asgard on the verge of downfall, an ongoing threat from a past enemy and in the heat of war, Amora makes choices which affect her life, love and everything around her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Petty Banished

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter up! See what you think and see if you want more of my late night scribbling on a notebook. Enjoy!

_"This is the way you left me,_  
_I'm not pretending._  
_No hope, no love, no glory,_  
_No Happy Ending._  
_This is the way that we love,_  
_Like it's forever._  
_Then live the rest of our life,_  
_But not together."_

_**Happy Ending, MIKA** _

* * *

 

Amora took a deep breath before making her way up the golden steps to the palace. She hadn't been back since _then_. She hadn't had a reason to break her exile until now, the death of the second prince had been gossiped about in all the nine realms, and with most of them chuffed and clinking their glasses together at the news, Amora sank into a guilt filled world of her own. She hadn't visited _him_ , or spoke to _him_ since she left. She didn't reply to _his_ letters, and she knew _he_ had searched for her before, numerous times – and she just avoided all contact. She always thought there would be time, loads of it. Sadly, she was wrong, and before she knew it, she was travelling to Asgard for this _godforsaken_ funeral.

Amora didn't know if Thor was attending, nobody did. She had heard he'd went back to Midgard to be with his mortal lover and new 'team' of incompetent superheroes. And frankly, she didn't care. Amora lowered her head as she passed the gleaming, gold guards, they didn't recognise her and probably thought she was another guest. She was directed by another guard to a room, the throne room. Amora sighed, wondering how'd she face Odin and a hoard of other subjects - and possibly persuade Odin to let her stay for the funeral.

Amora swarmed through the doors to the throne room, hair swishing and cloak sweeping the floor as she glided along with a brimming smirk that pinched her lips was the outside of her innermost fear, three hundred years she'd been banished, and that settlement ended today - ish. Hardly any guards were there - actually, the more she looked around, she realised that there were no guards in there. Only Odin sitting on his throne, relaxed. He didn't look angry or agitated as Amora shuffled towards him, her feet barely lifting from the floor as her posture shook with nerves. The dark colours that covered her revealed a tame, sad girl lost in thought as she lowered her hood. "My king." She murmured the phrase people would normally say to him when they spoke, followed by a frivolous curtesy. She had no time for royals. She watched his reaction to the still-banished woman in front of him. His eye widened as his lips thinned. He used to strength of his staff to pull himself to his feet. Staring down at Amora, he replayed the memories of her banishment which somehow altered his expression.

* * *

 

_"You can't banish me!" Amora was shrieked in front of the king, his sons stood at his side while Frigga had her arm on Amora, keeping her in place. A young Sif stood gawping with Volstagg, Fandral and Hogunn. Who all shared the same mutal expression, shock._

_"Amora, you broke our laws and caused our - “ Odin was sharply cut off by Amora's wailing voice. "I haven't broke any laws, my King, understand that will you!" Mutters of displease echoed the room as she continued her outburst of rage. "- I am a sorceress - unlike any of your ridiculous warriors, I can battle and fight - " As she stammered on, Odin had marched towards her, clambering down the polished steps and even with the ultimate height difference, she managed to reach the tip of his nose. Which wasn't such a good thing as he screamed at her._

_"Kill! That's what makes you different - you took a life and I cannot fathom - " The screech of her voice wouldn't of been misheard in Valhalla " - I didn't kill anyone!" She halted her voice, backing away suddenly from Odin's red angry face. She caught a glance at the Prince - not the golden warrior everyone desired - the other, younger and darker. He spared mild emotion and looked distraught, the once slick hair had been messed by a running hand, his emerald eyes darted between his father and friend. She bared a faint smile, studying him carefully before changing her gaze to Frigga. Well - her arm, which stayed put on Amora's shoulder._

_Amora dismissed Odin's words as he spoke of banishment for her mishap with that stranger. She had all the pride in her to admit it, but that meant being banished, which then meant leaving and that would be forever. She watched Odin's mouth move around, gargling silent nonsense to her. She probably should be listening though, hear the terms of her exile. " - therefore you are by Asgard's laws, banished." She couldn’t do forever. The words struck her in the heart, like a scouring dagger or a pitchfork. Maybe driven in by Odin - or Sif, she didn't like Sif. That was one of the upsides she managed to think of while Odin was talking, she wouldn't have to see Sif if she was banished. That etched a smile to her face, the truth unseen by others but reality hitting hard. Odin dismissed all from the Throne room. They each disappeared slowly, some jeering as they walk by, others not even attempting to pass Amora with that expression on her face. Even Frigga should've known she shouldn't be messing with Amora, the one who would be gone by midnight, the petty banished. Nether the less, she squeezed Amora's shoulder and pressed a kiss to the side of her forehead. Odin made a grunt of disapproval, pacing back to his throne._

_Amora shut her eyes, staying as still as possible to stop the tears draining down her face. She felt Frigga leave her side, along with more passing bodies, The Warriors Three, Sif and Thor. She knew he'd stay. The cold hands cupping her face, alerted her eyes, the warmth pressing against her as they embraced, signalled her hands to wrap around him. The streaming of tears was natural, two sets of soaking wet tears. "You're my best friend, Loki." she hiccupped against his chest. "As you are mine." he kissed her forehead, silencing her sobs._

_Then he was gone._

_Like magic._

* * *

 

Shaking the distant memory and long ago thoughts from her mind, Amora's dreary and nervous posture changed, with the memory creeping by, she retrieved the leftover animosity and heartache.Clearly, she appeared different than all those years ago. She had grown into a fine young woman with impeccable eyes that stared into your soul, her glossy, golden hair fell to her chest which rose up and down as if she knew what he was thinking about, a relapsed memory which he now saw standing in front of him. She slid off her leather gloves along with the frown on her face. A fickle smirk took its place as she voiced her most sarcastic thought "How lovely it is to see you, after all this time." Her deep emerald eyes flickered down as the grin laid bare, she watched as he tasted the salt in the air. Although, he seemed sort of amused as the sarcasm rolled off her tongue. Her behaviour in certain circumstances was never dry, be that wailing or winning.

Instead of replying with a comment of his own, he nodded "As it is to see you, Amora." 

The shock on Amora's face did not go unnoticed, her bottom lip parted the top and she steadied herself for such a reply. Had he addressed her in such a manner before? No. Maybe he was being sarcastic - the King of Asgard? Yeah, _right!_

"Are you here for the funeral?" He asked, not like he had any other guess.

"Yes," she answered, looking up through her lashes "Loki was a - a good friend of mine."

He smiled - actually physically smiled. And more surprisingly, she smiled back. "More than a good friend, I've heard." Amora's eyes darted, scanning his features, emotionless and an invisible grin. She had hoped that nonsense had died down, along with the foul rumours. She also knew that it wasn't nonsense, and frankly the rumours were true. She cringed as her cheeks turned crimson, fidgeting with her gloves in hand.

" _What_ \- what have you heard?"

"Relax, Amora." The minute the smooth artful veiled comment left his smirking lips, she sensed something odd, the unnerving gut feeling urged her to press on. The way he easily reclined and nonchalantly placed a hand on the arm of the throne, softening his grip on his gleaming staff. That was _not_ Odin, she thought, scowling. That was not Odin; an emerald ripple scoured over his body, silver armour turning dark and trim, his red cape fading a dark green, white hair turning a crisp raven. The distance eyes turned a cunning emerald, all in one, Odin transformed into Loki. She stood stiff, a fade of numbness washing over her. Her glassy eyes widened as he paced towards her, easily and smoothly. As soon as the soft hand landed on her shoulder, she struggled to stay upright. All this time, and the bloody fool was still alive!

After everything that had happened, between them, with them...the sleepless nights, the sodding tears that soaked through the letters from him she had kept. The love - _Don't be so sentimental_ , she told herself.

" _How could you?!_ " Her heart leapt angrily inside of her chest. She broke out of her rigid, frozen frame as she took control of her inert feet, marching towards him. Every sacred reason of love and lust, the reason she walked through those doors had immediately left her mind. He backed away, it seemed he didn't expect Amora to be that frantic - he didn't think she cared that much. Nor did she - Amora didn't know why she did, it wasn't as if they were - _anything_.

Before he could reply, Amora launched towards him with only one desire in mind. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into his pale throat as she landed on top of him. He grunted as they both hit the floor, Loki having the height of impact. With Amora above, he attempted to drag her hands off him but even if they matched in magic and skill, Amora had one thing over him this time. _Rage_.

"You cunning, evil, spiteful - " As her fists came swooping down to hurt him, the best damage she could inflict was a scratch to his cheek before he pushed her off him. Amora shrieked as her arm hit hard off the floor. Her hands loosened as he pinned her down, immobilising most of her body as she refused to look at him - though it was hard not to as their faces were close. Amora could feel his rapid breath touch her cheeks as her lips pierced with displeasure. "Get off!" She growled, as she tried to shove his torso but that had changed.

The dim angled light seemed to capture his almost concealed expression, underneath the relaxed posture and witty sense, he revealed a vulnerable and scared composure. " _Amora_ \- listen to me!" He desperately pleaded, his elbow collapsed next to her, so he was leaning over her “Amora…” Her name on his lips coerced her to glance at him, she used to wobble when he said that, pop a foot and peck him. She stopped squirming under him, propped herself into her elbows then raised a curt eyebrow as she hesitated before nodding "Fine, though do you mind? I’m not a chair."

He scarpered off her immediately in such hast that if she hadn’t of caught the slight grin on his face, she’d have thought he was afraid. He lazily offered her a hand as she swiftly ignored it and ever so elegantly stood up herself. Dusting off her clothes and crossed her arms, turning her back to him. He returned his hands to the side, swallowing, uncertain whether to lace together an apology or cut straight to the point.

"If it is any amenity, I felt deplorable that you believed I was dead." he said without stutter although losing eye contact with Amora. The hairs rose on the back of her neck as she pondered whether to pounce on him again, she could definitely stammer out an argument that both their silvertongues would battle it out to. However, she straightened her posture and replied "Really? I felt rather at solace – the second time, darling – I already lost my lifetime of tears for the first," She prowled around him, watching him make sense of that as she uttered under her breath “although my lifetime of tears was very, very little.” She dropped her arms to her hips. He mumbled something, regaining sense "Good, I let go out the past quite a while ago, as easy at it was." He sneered “seems you took longer.” He jumped between expressions of sorrow and pathetic jeers which never once bored Amora.

"Enough of the tantrum, dear, you can’t to feel sorry for yourself forever.” she crossed the floor as he followed, hot on her heels, pausing to say “You think you know me.” Oh, she could list everything about his - his life was more mysterious than his death. “ _Enough_.” She stopped, turned around and faced him “Tell me, _my King_ , what is the idea behind this phase of golden thrones with glimmering crowns?” She gave a dismissive wave of her hands with the tips of her fingers sparking emerald rays of magic. Loki turned on his heel, pacing back and forth as his iconic smirk relished his features “I knew you’d ask,” his eyes illuminated the same emerald that she previously waved about “although, I don’t find you very trusting at the moment.”

Amora gave a half shrug with an obvious roll of her eyes “Did either one of us come here for trust? I know I didn’t.” with a shake of her head, she continued with revealing information “And I believe I have you at my _mercy_.” He laughed, the same laugh that delighted her years ago but now only pierced her ears. Approaching her, he cocked his head “Now, please explain how that is possible.” She drew in a sharp breath as he towered over her dominantly, managing to make audible her words, “Only you could question the obvious, Loki.”

Before they could erupt into another snappy argument, an alarming noise from the end of the hall alerted them both. All of a sudden, a herd of guards abruptly clambered into the throne room. Wavering shields and swords about, directing them at Amora until they caught a glimpse of their king. Shocked, she turned to Loki, who unfortunately didn't have the heads up to transform back to Odin.

" _Damn_."

The guards launched at the both of them, yielding their weapons towards them, shouting about the King. Amora glided in front of Loki, uttering a spell as fast as she could which secured a lime coloured force field between them. It halted the guards from ambushing them – the ones stupid enough to try and break through faced a harsh blow – and it also stopped Loki and Amora from exiting the room.

" _Great_ idea," he muttered to her as they both aligned back to back, an old pose that brought a handful memories alight. Amora brushed them away as she shot a spell through the force field, the only thing it couldn't block. The emerald power rippling through the force, attacking multiple guards at once. "I couldn't see you coming up with anything better!" She snapped, throwing continuous spells at the guards as Loki copied, pressing his back against Amora who pretended to take no notice.

"Plan this in exile, Amora?" A swish of emerald aggressively hit the guards, stunning them and forcing them to the floor. Amora whipped around, aiming a curt hand at her target "You know I never plan, Silvertongue." she hung onto the word that seemed to sting his mouth shut. She then released her powerful magic, knocking the guards off their feet as they grunted. Strands of blonde flew in her face as she scanned the floor - every guard was down, presumably not dead. Amora daintily stepped over them, hitching her dark dress up, deliberately prodding the occasional guard with her heel. Roughly removing the force field, she proceeded to the door, hearing the cantering footsteps of the man behind her.

“ _Wait!_ ” Amora halted uncertainly, turning only her head to see what he wanted. He took that as an invitation to speak, he stepped around her to see her face “ _Stay._ ”

She threw a puzzled expression, even questioning his word as a joke “Have you lost your mind? No, I won’t – what we become of this realm if both of us roam free?”

It was true. If she stayed she would be dragged into some chaotic scheme that would eventually fail and fall. Despite her original reason for returning to Asgard, this one seemed far worse. She could leave her old retired self behind now, even if it was in her drive to do something a little chaotic once in a while, this seemed more than a game and she wasn’t dumb enough to play. Asgard was not safe if two silvertongued sorcerers’ took control, and if he didn’t directly ask her anything along the lines of conquering the realm, she could see in his warped mind that he plotted something intense.

“Amora, if you would – “

She cut him off with a strict “No” before making a sharp turn with tense shoulders, leaving the throne room, emotionless. He followed her – of course he would – and continued asking her and what sounded like pleading, to an extent. As she almost found her way out of the maze of the palace, avoiding any large group of guards, she stammered a harsh response.

“ _No_ , Loki! What don’t you understand? Do you think I came back for you? For this pathetic realm? I want no involvement in your next mischievous scheme, not now – not ever!” She ended up screaming at him, all hot-headed and balled fists. He just stood there. The same frigid position that he composed all his life, threading his fingers together as he counter-argued something in his head. Throughout his puzzling mind piecing together such things she had no idea of, he concluded his silent argument and only sadly smiled at Amora before she twisted around, leaving him behind.

Before she made her way to another windy corridor, she heard an old voice croak “ _Guards_! Seize her!”


	2. Shall Not Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How has Amora taken to her imprisonment?

_"She wears strength and darkness equally well, the girl has always been half goddess, half hell." **Nikita Gill**_

* * *

 

Amora sat, alone. Crumbling quietly with her thoughts – a dangerous situation really.

She mentally counted the days she'd been locked up, she made a note of it on one of the walls, although it wasn't very visible anyway...

She counted five. Five days Amora had spent in the dingy cell, surrounded by fools who'd broke the law and large monsters whose appearances couldn't scare her – she supposed after five untamed and uncomfortable days in her cell, she looked worst of all. She had her arms crossed over her knees and head bent down with messy, straggly and knotted hair curtained over her face. It wasn't a beautiful golden blonde anymore, her magic had been restrained in the cell, including the glamour spell to which it left an unrecognisable colour – though that was probably due to the dirt.

The cell was one of the most secure cells she'd been in. A completely soundproof, bright room with a magical force field which burned if she attempted to exit, and she wasn't stupid enough to try.

A wolf whistle diverted her from her thoughts – a bloke with a scar on his cheek in the opposite cell made a crude gesture to her skirts, she had been deprived of the expensive outfit she arrived in (they tore it apart to find 'enchanted' weapons and poisons – they found nothing) and was sentenced to imprisonment with an ugly shade of azure hanging off her. The other cellmates – roughly just men and monsters – who enjoyed eyeing her up like a piece of meat, just as the man with the scar previously did. Now, she was grateful for the clothing as a whole, most places would deny it, though she was quite cold and that just reminded her of the worst. The worst being the reason she was locked up in this insanity pit.

She did not care about him, she did not need him – he was just another waste of space that filled up her life for a while. The phrases she repeated to herself every night in the chilly cell, always tired and always regretting everything she ever gave to that man. She cursed his name – continuously.

She was too busy consumed in her thoughts to notice the pair of scuffed boots paces away from her. Blaming her drained energy for the fact that she didn't even lift her head up, but she didn't even care – if she had the energy she would've screamed at him. Her eyes wandered back to the boots which followed up to his knees and above, coated in a dark leather which Amora's eyes lingered on for too long before glancing at the belt which contained multiple poisons and the sharp dagger with a crafted handle, one of his favourites (she only knew this because she gifted it to him on a previous birthday – then he immediately favoured it over the rest). She almost craved the delicate pale skin of his which peaked out beneath his loose shirt, the same emerald colour which matched his warped eyes. Oh, how she could describe his eyes. No man could physically or mentally take control of her, but those eyes would trick her into mischievous deeds and even better things like loving him.

Amora could go on describing him, but there weren't enough words even in a Vanaheim dictionary to calculate the exact beauty of his face.

She hated him, still.

" _Amora._ "

She spotted those sunken eyes, curtained by untamed raven locks, coming closer to her as he slowly lent down.

His hand wandered over to land on her shoulder as she muttered an Asgardian curse which she made loud enough for him to hear. He surpassed a grin which she could practically feel on her skin, eating away at her. She decided to lift her head up, once again the picture of her looking dreadful came to mind (he'd seen her worse). She ran her eyes over him, he looked sick.

She felt sick.

" _Amora,_ "

Her eyes pierced as she asked without a hint of emotion "Are you really here?" He lowered his head, guiltily. She glanced to her shoulder where he saw his hand hovering over it, buzzing with a shimmer of light every few seconds.

" _Wuss_."

She couldn't even string together a decent insult like she did a thousand times before, when she made effortless remarks about the young boy exceeding in sorcery who now had grown up.

He ignored that comment and gazed directly at her "I've been told you haven't been eating." he gave her time to let that sink in. Not that it was true, or wasn't. She had, yes, avoided some meals brought in. When she turned her nose up, the guards just left it in front of her to rot, until the next day when they brought in another and took the previous out. She concluded she wasn't a flair for dramatics - only on certain occasions - but she swore to never eat like a peasant in a cell she had been locked up in.

"What do you care?" She spat, straightening up as she wrapped her arms around her sides.

"You can't avoid eating, Amora." She crawled close to him, as close as she could get to the image of him anyway. If he was really there then she'd be invading personal space, but now she was just nose to nose with the transparent image.

" _Watch me_." 

He puffed out a sigh which she could almost feel on her cheeks, with a defeated look he said "Give me five minutes."

She only displayed a look of confusion before he vanished into thin air, leaving behind glimmers of green.

 

*

 

" _No_."

He growled with frustration, dropping the bowl, defeated again.

They'd both been sitting in the middle of her cell for half an hour after he'd returned - in the flesh - along with plates of food. How did he manage to avoid all those guards - even with a disguise - carrying steaming hot soup and shiny fruits all piled up on silver platters in front of her, just sitting there and waiting to be eaten. Amora would've given anything to gobble it all though she wouldn't satisfy him in the means of winning. She was far too proud - and stubborn - to do that.

At first, she laughed at him coarsely and crossed her arms. If a heavily armoured guard shoving a spoon down her throat couldn't make her, how could he? And he couldn't.

"Give up already," she said, twisting a dirty lock of hair around her finger "you've already given me the satisfaction of your failure." She smiled sickeningly at him, enjoying the fact that the current King ( _sort of king_ ) of Asgard was sitting cross-legged in her cell trying to force food into her. _He'll get tired..._

"Tell me, how long was it again you went without food?" She sneered harshly "I might at least try and break the record."

She thought she'd would receive a bitter insult or even get him to leave. Instead, he just shook his head and picked up the spoon again "Remember when I read to you?"

Amora eyes darted towards his uneasily. His sudden and random outburst which had nothing to do with their current situation, surprised her to say the least. It wasn't like him to bring up a past memory, especially one they both shared and admired.

"Why bring that up?" She asked, slyly kicking a bowl of apples away from her. He dipped the spoon into the soup - her favourite actually - and answered "Since you let me read to you, you may let me feed you."

Her first expression was expression _less_. Did he count himself so smart to conduct an idea which faltered in all areas? Amora seethed at him " _Clever_. Yet you think I'd let you do such a thing? You should be grateful you're anywhere near me without losing a hand. Do you think I'll let you touch me or - "

 _Then all at once_. Rushing warmth of flavours tangled in her mouth - that cuisine was more delicious in her mouth than on the plates. She spotted the spoon between her lips, pulling at it as she mentally screamed at herself for falling for such a foolish trick. He'd slammed the spoon in her mouth as she ranted and currently that was the last thing on her mind - she really wanted that soup.

"It's not as good as Mothers," he chuckled as he retrieved the spoon.

She sucked on her bottom lip as he so casually continued "This one is a tad salty."

She watched as he aimed the spoon towards her, the smells diverting her as she almost reached for it. Then abruptly changed the spoons path towards himself, watching her irked expression. "Mhm," he provoked her as he ate another spoonful "I've always liked - "

" _Oh, give me that_ \- " Floored by the sweet smells of steaming soup, Amora grabbed the spoon off him and almost swallowed the soup in one go " - I'm the starving one."

 

*

Resting, awkwardly, against the impenetrable cell wall, Amora yawned "Can you leave me to sleep now?"

 In the previous hours, Amora had ended her hunger strike to which Loki seemed content with, for the time being until she started up another _dramatic_ strife. Yes, he stayed. After finishing the food herself, Amora ordered him to leave to which he simply shook his head and sat down with her, mostly silent until a conversation arose about the opposite cellmate. The rather large, unruly man who formerly referred to Amora as a piece of meat, made a racket when tackling the guards to the amusement of her and Loki. She could no longer keep her rage alive - not at this time anyway. She couldn't trust him. She couldn't love him - she didn't even like him. Yes, he was - _is_ \- an utter twat and he locked her up like a murderous criminal, but that didn't mean she couldn't simply _talk_  with him.  She let him, of course, she let him have one ounce of friendliness and sweet composure, knowingly to her that he'd end up betraying her anyway. 

"Hmm?" He was scanning her pile of books and had obviously found something interesting as he lost all interest in her. 

"Sleep, Loki." she wandered aimlessly to her bed, waiting him to hurry up and vanish. 

He dropped the book and shook his head "No thanks, I've got a splendid room elsewhere - "

"I meant _me_ , you fool." She rolled her eyes. Of course, he had a lovely little room unlike she, who had already spent five long and tiring days surrounded by nothing but her own oxygen and rowdy cellmates. 

"Ah, yes, I meant _you_ too," he strolled towards her in a carefree manner which he expressed in his words "if you want you may swap this hellhole for a - _well_ \- nicer place."

She was confused, if he was offering a place of sanctuary now it was a little too late. She been stuck in a cramped cell without any decent clothes or luxuries - just rotten hair and absurd men across the way. Only now the thought came to him to upgrade her from the most uncomfortable cell in the kingdom to a lap of luxury. 

A resemblance to simper crawled onto his face as he waited for her reaction. Amora, on the other hand, raised a brow and cocked her head, asking "What are you talking about, Loki?"  

Making direct eye contact, he used gestures to make clear that she either could stay and rot in her cell or somehow be released and could saunter up to high class four-posters and silk sheets. 

"How about it?" He then said. 

She obviously beforehand weighed out all her options, it was very simple - squat in a cell or slumber to the sound of morning birds on one of Asgard's highest balconies. She nodded, rubbing her bare arms with a whisper "Fine."

After batting her lashes at the ground, she glanced up and caught a glimpse of his crooked smile. 

"Good." he replied, walking briskly towards her "then we leave _now_."

She spoke startled as he pulled something from his coat "Wait - _what_?" 

He threw the contents at her, it was a fabric of some sort. _A dress_. 

"Wait, you had this all along and didn't - " 

Giving her a mulish look, he interrupted "Enough. We have little time, get dressed and we go."

She supposed she could stop her whining for a moment. As she pulled off her ugly stretch of fabric - giving him a fair warning that if he even glanced in her direction, he would pay a fair price - and unfolded the thin dress he less than handed to her. _Her dress_.  

" _This_ , my dress..." 

She slowly draped the green gown over her, some of the buttons were disordered or all together torn off. There was a hollow rip down the side, it was tiny but she still noticed it. Nothing special, not a ballgown or one of her favourites but definitely one of his. 

"Pardon?" He asked, his back to her until she dressed. 

She smoothed down the dress as she replied "You kept this?" 

Rotating on the spot, he quizzed her expression - _humble_. It wasn't false, he read her like a book and currently what he was reading was very real. She was stood still, fingers scraping along the silk cuffs of the gown, without a thought on her face. 

" _Er,_ yes, I did." He stuttered, his brain hurrying to find something - anything - to change the subject. 

She said nothing, just gave herself one look over and kicked the straggly azure _thing_ to the side.

He turned back around, avoiding her questioning eyes and instead, explained the plan he composed not too long ago.

"When the clock strikes nine, the guards change their station which takes about four minutes," he started, catching her attention "we shall then leave here and it takes about two minutes to ascend to the above floor..."

"You have this all planned out, don't you?" she appeared in front of him, gazing up at him audaciously as he nodded sheepishly. It wasn't a complicated plan but he fully examined it when Amora was swallowing soup and that seemed enough time to conceive a stable plan.

She took a step closer on her toes, leaning on him " _Well_ ," she breathed "I don't like plans." 

He was too consumed by the her hot breath landing on his neck that he didn't even react. Not a bit. 

Amora's eyes wandered along his features, matching the identical eyes staring back at her intriguingly " _Two minutes?_ We can beat that."

With her words batting off him, he regained his posture, straightened up and smirked "I have a better idea." 

And with that, he wrapped his arms around her and they both instantly vanished into thin air. 

The duplicate of emerald sparks continued to waver until the herd of guards clocked off. _They didn't see a thing_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone let me know how this is going as its only be previewed by me eye and I'd appreciate if you had any complications with reading or you want to propose an idea. X


	3. Plans and Potions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! I'm unsure about this one, hmm...  
> Some offensive language! Heads up.  
> Comment and Kudo!

_"You talk lots about God_  
_Freedom comes from the call_  
_But that's not what this bitch wants_  
_Not what I want at all."_

**_Money Power Glory, Lana Del Rey_ **

* * *

 

 

 

Amora opened her eyes a crack, the bright lights blinding her as she forced herself into a sitting position amidst the silk blankets and pillows. She recalled a blurry night of sneaking out the prison with an emerald light, reappearing in Loki's room to only fall asleep as soon as she landed on the luxurious bed. She assumed that he had decided to just sleep beside her, well, not that close because she had tossed and turned in the night, her dress even ripped at one point. The same dress that she'd been given surprisingly the previous night hung off her, casually reminding her yet again of the past. Not that she was bringing that up anytime soon, hopefully it would fade away or travel miles underground – not to bother her again.

Relaxing against the headboard, her eyes wandered over the sleeping figure lying beside her. He appeared so peaceful when he slept, an emotion he did not express when he was conscious. Curled up with an arm hanging off the bed, wild raven locks disheveled like his crumpled clothes matched the impassive expression on his face. Amora had to say, he had quite a handsome edge to him when he was tangled up in sheets, plus her standards didn't stop her eyes wandering down his open shirt. Yet, if she ever admitted that to him... _well_ – she wouldn't.

Lifting her skirts, she advanced from the bed aiming for the bathroom, planning to freshen herself up. Having spent almost a week lacking from conditioner and even a hairbrush, she almost closed her eyes when she looked in the mirror. The once soft blonde hair crunched under her nails as she dampened it with handfuls of water, the makeup she arrived in had disappeared, leaving behind a pale face and a pair of emerald eyes which lost their sparkle. Gripping the edge of the sink, she gazed into the pool of dirt before her. Cupping her hands, she washed away the remains of dirt and grime on her face. She began to question why she even here... Getting herself a free ticket to hell with all the trouble she was causing – or about to cause. About to aid her trickster in a plan that would go horribly wrong, however it rewarded her with freedom which was what she needed, away from rotten Asgard, never to return.

Groaning in frustration, she pulled off her dress hastily, leaving it in a heap on the floor as she attempted to work out the controls to the shower. It was the least she could do for herself, taking a long, hot shower while making use of the fancy products lined up inside the steaming shower. It felt terrific to have burning water to run down her body, clearing her of all that prisoner dirt – how she could take simple things for granted. Especially the royal rooms in the palace, she could use her advantages to that, the bathrooms which the word 'luxurious' could not cover because they provided a lady like Amora with all her needs. _Powders. Potions. Mirrors even_. She used to spend her time taking rewarding bubble baths when she sneaked into Loki's room when she was - when they were, that.

She washed away that memory along with her hair, hidden behind the concealed shower walls which kept her from peeping eyes, she never managed to hear the swing of the door open followed by soft footsteps.

"Take as long as you want." She stopped, opening her eyes wide enough to have shampoo drip into them. A moment of regret slipped past her about not locking the door, or even shutting it at that cost. Continuing to hide behind the shower walls, she yelled " _Get out !_ "

A sly chuckle passed her ears as she grew impatient "I swear Loki, I will drag you out myself."

" _Oh will you now_? Planning on dressing for that or not?" His footsteps trailed around the room, sometimes coming close to the shower but never near enough for Amora to claw him - not that she was planning on it, yet. She slammed a hand on the shower button, ceasing the pouring water as she scrubbed the last few soapy bubbles off her arms. Eyeing around for a towel, she mentally screamed. No towel, she hissed in her mind.

The pacing footsteps grew louder and closer to the shower as Amora backed into the corner, knocking various products over as a hand appeared in view, with a fresh, white towel dangling in sight. "Usually you aren't this forgetful, only about things such as Lorelei's birthday or you know, me." She grabbed the towel from his grip, tightening it around her as she appeared in front of him, now she was the cleaner one of the two as he appeared messy and sleepy, hair falling in his face but she could still make out the blue look on his face.

"I didn't forget _you_ ," she told him, "I wanted too, but I didn't."

She honestly wondered where her previous bitterness had eloped to, last night they bickered like children but now she didn't bother to put up a fight. Plus, she wasn't lying to him, she didn't forget him and spent every day in her home, thinking about him. Maybe not always in the sweetest way, she had her demons too however she couldn't wash herself of him just yet.

At least she was truthful and he seemed contempt with that, tugging a smile on his lips for just a moment before it disappeared and they stood awkwardly, Amora half naked and he, just being there made it all the more uncomfortable for her. Before she turned to dry her hair, she flashed a smile "And for the record, I only forgot Lorelei's birthday _once_."

 

*

 

Amora ran her fingers through her newly washed hair then glanced up to give Loki a questioning look "What is your plan then?"

She sat neatly at his desk which had piles of bound books towering over pots of ink and scrolls upon scrolls. Wearing one of his dressing gowns unfortunately as all her clothes were; the ripped dress, the past azure thing and what she came in, a now destroyed ensemble. Of course it didn't fit her, sweeping on the floor, the gaping arm holes. Though she put up with it, being quite comfy and far better than any ripped dress.

He was pacing back and forth across the fireplace, she could tell he was pitching an idea in his mind from the deviously acute expression etched on his face.

"You have to agree..." He spoke hurriedly then muttered words she couldn't hear.

She watched his hands squeeze into fists as he spun on the spot and paced towards her.

Speaking of this plan made her aware of the seriousness of the situation, he took her out of prison because he needed her help or assistance, something important that she hadn't got out of him yet. "You tell no one," he leaned over her as she sat at the desk, unfazed by his dramatic change.

"Tell no one what?" She paused, whatever he would speak about was surely secretive and even he seemed to take his chances with her. "Loki, what is it?" She asked impatiently, riddled with annoyance from his lack of words.

"I require your assistance, I need a weapon."

Their eyes locked, he said little but enough for her to comprehend. He had the head to plan such demented ideas, he even had access to the largest weapons vault in all of Asgard and he was seeking her help? He didn't have the right partner possibly and that's where she came in.

"If I'm honest," Amora started bluntly, ideally hiding her own feelings and thoughts about his obnoxious idea "this wasn't the original plan I was expecting, however I don't believe I understand either, care to explain?"

He drew in a long breath, sitting beside her as she shifted uneasily. Tensing, as he began to explain "It is simple, Amora, I am in need of a useful weapon, not a pathetic hammer but another creation. I believe that you can aid me."

She scoffed "Aid you in finding a weapon or starting a war?" She turned her body to face him "What's the ideal ending of this plan, then?"

" _Amora_ \- "

"No, tell me," she stood up, irritated "is Asgard going to burn? Are you going to be in control? Will Odin be killed?" She drew out all her accusations with wild hand gestures, they all sounded like plans that Loki would conjure although Amora hoped he aimed for a vision less drastic. "Already half way there," he unveiled a smirk behind his frigid composure. Towering over her, he relaxed, taking great pleasure in watching Amora frenzy.

"You - you what?" She took the opportunity to nail her fist in his shoulder "What have you done?"

As he pressed a palm to his unhurt shoulder, he listed all the actions he had achieved and the ones yet to come. This involved Odin being knocked into Odinsleep while he took control of the realm in disguise of the old freak. With Thor out the way, he could manage to get away with it - for now. What was left to come was keeping up with the fake kind scenario, Amora wasn't even sure if it was what he intended but listened intently about this weapon he so strongly wished for.

" - something that can overwhelm armies of soldiers, more powerful that the likes of Mjölnir definitely. A weapon that no one has ever faced before." She pinched the bridge of her nose, she had to admit it, she was impressed. It wasn't all fabrications either, he had actually coerced Odin into Odinsleep and took the throne as easy as that. If she became involved, who knows what he - they could accomplish.

"Let me see," she tapped her fingers against her thigh "You've already gained the crown and knocked Odin to sleep, now you want a weapon but how will this end?"

" _It won't_ ," he voice sounded like a whisper "with Odin gone and the kingdom in my hands, we can achieve greatness and handle power."

" _We_?" She asked, astounded at his foolishness.

He took both her hands steadily "Well, if you help me, I'll happily return the favour."

Sliding both her hands out his grip, she nodded " _Fine_ , I will help you build this powerful weapon and I care for nothing in return except my grant of freedom, is that clear?"

He nodded with a growing grin on his face. " _Excellent_. Still so wise, Amora." He tapped her chin lightly as she rolled her eyes.

"I said I'd help you, not run back into a loving friendship." She stubbornly said, watching his expression alter to dejection.

Pulling back her previous bitterness, she lightened the mood slightly "I could use a cup of tea though, before I get started on the wretched weapon." She gave him a glimpse of a smile as she prowled towards his bookshelf, scanning for any books that might give any advice of weapon wielding.

Again, she found her senses delaying as he stealthily came up behind her, murmuring a word of thanks as she continued to pretend to look at books. "That isn't necessary, I'm doing this for myself." She spoke without a trace of lie, she was in fact, aiding him for her freedom yet it wasn't like she couldn't just walk away by herself...

"Well, anyway, I appreciate it all the more." He almost stepped away though not before pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. Amora could of reacted in a way that involved him being bruised or worse, or she could of let his lips leave her without any form of violence. She chose the latter.

She found herself handling a book as she blinked at him, he gave her a little smile as he said " _Now_ , how about that tea?" As he walked away to grant her wish of tea, Amora never realised how fast her hand reached the side of her blushing cheek. _He kissed her._

 

**_No._ **


	4. That Damned Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amora deals with her touchy-feely issues and encounters a bad memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some flashbacks, offensive language and if you like animals - skip the end.

_"Hands, are the most honest part of the human body, they cannot lie as laughing eyes and the mouth can."_

**_M.C. Escher_ **

* * *

 

The steaming cup of tea seemingly stirred itself as Amora cast a flicker of emerald over it. Various books based on weaponry and construction lay out in front of her as she skimmed lightly over each. Her project was to creation the weapon that Loki had envisioned so intently, first she had to decide what it could destroy and if there were any limitations to it, because if someone like Loki had hold of a weapon that had no limits, the outcome could be disastrous. However, she decided to keep that small detail to herself. He would find out when necessary.

The main build of the weapon would appear as a dagger, the same slim body and mould yet much more powerful than a simple sword. Slinking back into the seat, she reached for her tea cup as Loki entered the room, looking far more sheepish than usual.

"Oh my, what have you done this time?" She sipped her tea as she caught his worried glance.

Brushing it off, he replied "Nevermind, how are you getting on with the weapon?" She answered by nodding towards the desk with a grin. He scanned the desk she was working at, picking up a sheet of paper which she had sketched the final design onto, he grew a grin. "Amora, this is - " his eyes turned to globes as he overlooked the paper again and again "- perfect."

She shrugged, quite bemused by his over show of affection towards her. Only then it made sense that it wasn't her who was 'perfect', it was the weapon she created. The affection was towards the weapon, not her. And only that.

Although, she obviously didn't want him to think she was perfect, she wasn't intending on anything and her only dream was of freedom of which she would achieve after aiding in the weapon making.

"What materials does this require?" he asked, sitting beside her on the stool.

"Only what can simply be found," she spoke softly, fingers tracing over the paper as she named every material and its source. The paper he held was torn but accurate, each material could easily be sought across Asgard, some would be harder to find and buy than others but he would find ways to get them.

Her sketch was brief, yet the wonder in his eyes seemed certain it would work. She had conjured it to fit the requirements and he certainly seemed pleased with it, gripping the paper until the edges crunched. The corners of his mouth rose in delight.

Amora gently nudged him away, not wanting a relapse of today's earlier situation.

"What?" he noticed her uncomfortable expression as he dropped the paper. She shook her head, her golden waves bobbing out which faulted her defense as his pale hand reached out to hold the side of her head, fingers caressing through her hair.

"Is something wrong?"

" _Nothing_ ," she froze as she slowly reached for his hand, hastily pulling it away from her as she shifted her body around away from him.

"Amora, is something wrong?" he asked again, his hand still wavering near her face "Do you not want this?"

Her eyes harshly blinked up at him " _No_ , I do not. I told you, I'm only helping you so I can leave you as soon as possible." She snapped in rage, rather loudly, and when she turned to look at him, his eyes were full of hurt.

Only then was it that she realised she said ' _You_ ' as in directly to Loki. His previous excitement at the weapon ceased as his mouth turned to shape words which were silent and inaudible. She didn't even know if he meant anything, after all, he was only happy at her success and - no, she wasn't going to defend anything he did anymore. "Okay, _fine_ \- I need to check, _check on_ \- " he stuttered as sadness coloured his words as he quickly stood and crossed the room " - see you - _goodbye_."

His voice quietened as she caught his hand swipe at his face quickly before he disappeared out of the room.

Their intimacy was _lost_. Amora had so frequently bitten away when he came close, her only goal was to find her own way out of this mess. She hadn't thought about what would happen to him, not that she cared, if he eventually was thrown into prison he deserved it. She was _sure_ of it.

*

It was days since their - _disagreement_ \- and they intended to set off on journey to find their weapon's ingredients. Well, if they didn't kill each other along the way. They both became cold and distant towards each other, each far too proud to condemn the situation and move on somehow. Between the days, Amora had set up her work place in the corner of Loki's room, to which he barely arrived in and only slept and dressed there.

Amora was at bliss working away on the model of the weapon, she exceeded its powers slightly as every time it was complete, she became bored and extended the damage it could do. As for her sleeping arrangements, every night - and some afternoons - she 'fell asleep' in the chair, or on the chaise lounge to which neither of them bickered about. When she suggested the trip to collect the tools, he simply laughed in her face at the foolish idea for both of them to leave as he was ' _dead_ ' and she was ' _banished_ '. However, he eventually agreed with her - though not out loud - and set the journey out with intense planning that would keep them hidden. Though if either one of them were caught, Amora couldn't count on it for the other to care.

Also, the palace was boring her. During her childhood she had scoped out every corner of the palace and now that she knew all the secret doors and hiding places, the short cut to the cellars, the endless stores of food kept hidden away from sticky fingers, she found the palace a tad dry. It saddened her the past Queen of Asgard, Frigga, wasn't around anymore. The only person Amora was able to willingly talk to in the past, excusing Loki when he wasn't executing a drama, was the Queen.

When Amora first arrived in Asgard, no one was more welcoming than the Queen especially as Amora wasn't of royal blood. The Queen and her husband were polar opposites when it came to Amora; one adored and barely condemned her, the other would've been contempt with her pretty head on a plate. With the little magic Frigga knew, she taught it all to Amora - who knew far much more as she was trained before yet she couldn't turn away Frigga, not because she was a Queen, more like a second mother. Now that she was gone, Amora deeply regretted the times when Frigga would ask and ask, probably beg if she had the chance. Yet, she wouldn't tell her about...that - not that it was important now.

It didn't faze her now, suffice to say, Amora would've kept up a sort of act if beloved Frigga was still around, however awful as that sounds.

"The _map_ , Amora." A pale pair of fingers snapped in front of her face, drawing her from her thoughts.

" _What?_ " she snapped back, crossing her arms. In the midst of her reminiscing, Loki had grown impatient when searching for the map they had planned their journey on. They both stood in the darkness of the horse stables, _oh_ what a way to travel.

"Where is the map?" He asked, not breaking his cold character status. Amora rummaged through her bag, searching for the map where she also stumbled open her stolen gear. One night when everyone was asleep, she went out in disguise, in search of clothes that would fit (repeatedly wearing Loki's things was depressing her) and other sacred products like a decent hairbursh because someone like Loki didn't use one of those things. Obviously.

Unfortunately, she found nothing that fit to her taste, just a load of the maids old clothes with torn and ripped areas that Amora planned on using her magic to fix. Being the rain on her parade, Loki explained to her that the use of magic made them open to be caught, as they could be tracked when using magic. She cleverly brought up the point of Heimdall being able to see 'absolutely everything' to which Loki shrugged her off. She also kicked his leg sometime around then.

Loki had organised that the 'king' would be away for a while, leaving the Royal Court in charge of his duties, he also believed it to be a good idea to use horses instead of foot. Or magic. There was always something stepping in the way of magic. Aha, the map. She pulled it from her bag as she pestered him with more questions.

"Tell me again why we can't teleport to each damned destination?"

"The same way with the use of magic, it could locate us to people who want to find us." He growled, sick of saying the same thing over and over to her. "Who would want to find you?" She bickered childishly as he snatched the map off of her "Well, you certainly did."

*

The first notable part of the trip was that Loki took every delightful moment to mention one of Amora's treasured memories. They both rode their horses side by side as the sun rose, except it wasn't hot in the slightest as she had draped every crumby cloth she found over her as her cheeks turned pink. They barely spoke a word, the only time they would make graphic communication was when Loki grabbed her horse's rein and yanked it in his direction as her lovely horse really wanted to misdirect her.

Then, with a cute sunrise and a whistling breeze, Loki got to reminiscing and daintily reminded her of the time when Amora's first encounter of a horse wasn't so breezy. Then at that exact moment, she prayed that the horse would lead her astray somewhere. His tongue always had a talent for storytelling, and he wasn't going to be any less dramatic with this story than another.

Amora even pictured the memory in her head, cursing at the events unfolding.

_Her hands trembled on the reins although her face matched the enthusiasm on her companions eager faces, they'd done this many times before. Young Amora with that damned braid in her hair that she only cringed at now, held onto the pony - a pony, not a horse, they deemed her too 'unreliable'. The brisk of dawn lay out ahead as half the horses neighed loudly, excited for the trip._

_Amora turned her head, shifting her body was an effort as it was covered in tight fitting clothes, she faced her closest friend and whispered "How do I control this?" He threw a charming grin at her, telling her to yank the reins as hard as she could while hitting her leg on the side. Amora looked like a pathetic amateur next to him, his icy gaze drawing out ahead as the dark stallion listened to his every command. Amora wished to duke herself up like that, she knew he and Thor had early training - even if this was her first ride on a horse, how hard could it be?_

_So she did exactly that. Yank the reins, hit the pony in side with her leg._

_However, the foal seemed quite offended by her harsh actions and orders. She didn't expect it to be easy, she just expected it to listen. Damn animal. The foal increasingly heated as it began to rock back and forth as Amora carefully clad her legs around it to stop anything major from happening. With a shriek from the foal and Amora, the small pony managed to leap up and release, throwing her head first into a nearby bush which didn't seem too happy with her either. Prickled from the bush, she stood up carefully as she attempted to maintain her balance and pride._

_Although that seemed lost far back, sometime when she was mid air and screaming. The rest of the faces staring back at her, Thor, Sif, the damned Warrior's Three along with the culprit of the crime. Each and every one of them was chuckling and giggling, Sif even dropped her precious sword to throw her hands over her mouth. Her arm grabbed Thor's as they both burst into heaps of laughter. Except Loki, he laughed along but since he was he closest to her, he watched her expression fade from giddy girl to embarrassment and upset and anything else she could display on her colourful pallet of features - betrayal was the only one he could name._

The memory now even, struck her like a thousand knives.

She'd faced worse, far worse than the giggly faces and being thrown into the air by a baby animal. It wasn't the torment of people laughing at her, she'd done a lot of that to them too, mind. It was only her pride and small sense of dignity that left her, too bad it wasn't her wicked companion.

Her hands clenched to the reins on the horse in front of her, it seemed fair for time to play a repeat of that cruel memory. Time had caught up with her. Loki didn't say anything after he finished his story, he started with chuckles and intriguing storytelling, after the ending he shut up and rode along silently. The mischievous glint in his eye vanished, being replaced with sympathy or pity. Amora caught his eye checking up on her every few moments, that is until she spoke.

"You know I wanted to curl up and die at that exact moment?"

"So did I."

She didn't have the heart to doubt him.


	5. Named Beasts

_"The Monsters Turned Out Just To Be Trees."_

_Out Of The Woods, **Taylor Swift**_

* * *

 

 

“Where to now?” He dropped his bag on the floor, which landed with a thump on the barn floor.

Amora scanned the map, crossing out the previous town they’d found quartz in, which was on the list of supplies they needed to build the ideal weapon Amora had sketched and Loki had fantasied about. The town was odd, all pale colours and sand sweepers on the side of the street who tipped their hats to say ‘ _Hello_ ’. It was only a minute mining town on the borders of Asgard, the people were decent enough. Amora and Loki decided to keep refuge in a barn, the horses happily stayed there so often as their owners searched for their listed supplies. The townfolk didn’t mind travelers, the man who owned the barn was as decent as the rest. The people knew little about the gleaming Asgard generally, they didn’t seem to notice the Prince under their noses. Amora repeatedly told him to disguise himself, he argued with her and remained cloaked in Asgard’s finest. Something told her he had been here before, the people of the town barely knew anything about Asgard’s royalty, or anything about Asgard outside the town. Surely they would notice a prince of Asgard, a dead prince of Asgard. _What dull little lives they led_ …

“Alfhiem.” Amora sighed, travelling within Asgard was fine and barely contained any problems. They skipped Heimdel’s watch with foot work instead of teleportation. However, travelling to other realms was going to be a problem, with the insufficient tools they had – including no sorcery – it was clearly going to be tough to depart this realm and arrive in the next.

“Of course,” He bit the inside of his cheek “ _bloody Light Elves_.” He strode over to his horse, looking uneasy about going to Alfhiem. The dark horse obediently let him attach a saddle and reins, staying still only moving to toss its mane.

Amora eyed her own horse negatively, it hadn’t been resistant to her, though simply ignored some instructions and frequently moved around when Amora attempted to tie reins on, let alone a saddle. “It’s only a few more supplies,” Amora moved away from her horse, fetching the list and holding it up, harshly pointing “ _askr_ , it should be easy to find, there are forests all over that Realm.”

“You mean, _heavily guarded by Light Elves forests_?” He corrected her, stroking his horse more affectionately than he was speaking to Amora “you think Light Elves are going to freely going to let you cut open a tree? An _askr_ tree?”

“ _Oh please_ , we aren’t murdering them are we?” She almost yelled, then scrunched up the list and threw it in her bag “When they need askr, they are overjoyed to saw through the bark.” With a grunt, she swiftly kicked her bag which rolled over and the contents emptied out onto the straw floor.

Taken aback by her actions, Loki’s brows drew together in confusion. He knew why _he_ didn’t want to go to Alfhiem, but what was _her_ issue…

“Is something wrong?” he asked when catching her eye. The seething look she gave him startled him as he began to unsteadily walk towards her. Usually, his natural instinct kicked in when wondering about Amora, he knew everything about her; the way she laughed could ease or unsettle you, the scent of her hair when you got close and the way she walked out of the room after an argument, never stomped.

He felt she was about to do that just now, as her eyes pierced into his as she spoke with gritted teeth “Nothing”. She then paced towards the door, as she always did, quickly turned on her heel and said “We leave on the hour.”

*

 

Amora’s eyes watched the hand on the broken cloak in the barn dart to the number eleven. She was on her knees, packing her bag after wrestling with the horse to fix the saddle on. After she left, she went for a walk in the sand swept hellhole to somewhat calm herself down. The idea of going back to Alfhiem angered her, the past still followed her around and returning to the place she wished she’d never set foot in, well, that was the issue that angered her so. Anyway, it wasn’t like they could find _askr_ anywhere else, the Light Elves were famous for it, and it was precisely what they needed for the weapon. Shrugging off her cloak, she folded it up and placed it in her bag before buckling it and swinging it over her shoulder.

Standing up, she swept straw off her riding leggings then pulled up her boots. Sparing the clock a look, she reminded herself to _remind_ Loki to stop being late as she tied up her hair. Eventually, three minutes behind schedule, he waltzed in with a box under his arm, a wide grin on his face. “You’re late,” she raised a brow at him, though it didn’t falter his grin as he attached his bags to his horse, which yet again, obeyed.

“Three minutes, Amora,” he said, not missing a beat “need some assistance?” His eyes jumped between Amora and her horse, even as a strong and independent woman, her – he wouldn’t call it a fear – problem with horses was still in full swing since childhood, plus sweeping up that old memory from under the rug probably didn’t help either. Amora had succeeded with saddling up and tying her bags to the loose animal, however she hadn’t managed to get upon it, yet.

“Of course not,” she shook her head “even though I haven’t been near one of these ghastly beasts since I arrived here, I managed to ride it _to this town_ and I will be perfectly fine _again._ ” As she spoke, her slender body approached the horse with a strength he had not seen on her before. She moved stealthily towards the horse which grunted, her hands slid onto the reins and her foot into the stirrup as she hoisted herself up, then checked the leather keeper all while remaining on the horse, too still and immobile although better than when they set off.

Throwing him a look as she turned her head towards him, she stretched a smirk and mouthed ‘ _I told you so_ ’.

Even though it would’ve taken him half the time to do that, and in a lot less shaky manner, he still was impressed to say the least. Although, it was a few days since they first set off and Amora acted like the horse was a monster under the bed, ready to devour her. As he led his horse towards the door, another smile brimmed across his face as he chuckled lightly “You practised.” He turned around in time to see her expression falter, he knew and she knew he knew.

Her act seemed timed and practised, just how long had she worked with that horse to get it to follow her instructions like that, and not throw her off at the end. Amora braced herself for the next set of comments he could bestow. Every night, she would work a little with the horse until it listened and obeyed, she wasn’t favouring them at all though, not after the original incident that kept her at bay from all horses for many years. Only this morning, the horse was off with her until she fed it apples and bits of fruit she could find, it seemed to upstate for straw.

“Possibly. Or the horse has come to its senses – “ She stopped short, why was she defending the whole situation anyway? “Yes, I decided to practise, the thing wouldn’t listen without discipline and hard, _hard work_.”

Now sitting on his horse, he shook his head “Remind you of anyone?” She struggled to hold back a smile as she answered “Be quiet, you.” With her new horse-whispering abilities, she led the both of them down the hill with her mind of peace as she started telling him all about late night and early morning training which the horse now named ‘ _Illr_ ’. Gladly, he was all too happy to listen to her, it took her mind away from the other subject still in her head which put her in a state earlier.

She had forgotten, for a while… Although not for long.

*

 

Working around the current ban on magic was difficult; no teleportation, no sorcery and just the general loss of telepathic communication in which Amora could insult Loki inside his own head constantly gnawed away at her. Especially now, his loophole was easily straight forward but the complications as if magic was being used was tricky. His idea was to use one of his secret portals (no, he would not give away where any of them were) which were around Asgard and the other Realms.

“How isn’t that in use of magic?” Amora asked, steadily diverting _Ilr_ as she took one look at his scheming expression.

“Well,” he started “I didn’t construct the portals, someone else did, as long as they didn’t use sorcery when making them, it isn’t magic. So,” he gestured “it can’t be tracked.”

“Mhm? How does one _construct_ magical portals without magic?”

“There are more tools than magic out there, deary.”

She raised a curt brow at him with a disapproving look.

“Ah,” he remembered with a pause for thought “still not tolerating the names, are we?”

She turned away from him, shaking her head. Although she wasn’t uptight about it as before, it still bothered her when he called her – _those_ names. Brushing it off, she cleared her head and lifted her head up, staring out into the space in front of her where she was sure she heard Loki say “This is it.”

She squinted, trying to find something remotely related to far-distance-travelling-portals, yet all she saw was lumps of grass and rocks with overgrown moss in the shade. “What am I looking at, Loki?” She once again diverted her eyes to him, waiting for one calculated answer. “Your untracked trip to Alfhiem,” he drew out his arm directly to two stones submerged in muddy grass, sitting roughly in patches of grass.

Although they did seem to have a sparkle to them, if the sun hit the rocks in all the right places, a glimmer of violet and shades of azure appeared. Or it could be natural light. Or not. The sparkles around the rocks fastened their pace, the glitters in the wind couldn’t be missed as a see-through portal appeared, flashing violent purples with harsher tones of deep navy as if it would cut you when reaching towards it.

“ _This is it!_ ” He shouted over the loud, rasping noises of the portal. She definitely heard him that time, although she wished she didn’t as his horse galloped towards it, with hers in tow.

“Are you sure, Loki?” She yelled over the increasingly louder noise that was coming from the flashing portal. “Most definitely!” His hand reached out to grab her horse’s reins, holding it with such strength that the two couldn’t be separated on the other side.

Amora shut her eyes for the next part, she barely felt anything going through the portal except a breeze through her hair and the vibration of switching Realms. When Amora’s eyes opened again, momentarily her vision was echoing purple and flashes of blue in all sorts of directions. Suddenly, it faded and what appeared in its place was misty greens, tall trees and the fresh air hitting her. As they entered Alfhiem, transporting them to a dark corner of a forest. Trees of amazing length surrounded them, the soggy ground told them it had previously rained and also the precious droplets of rain falling off of heavy leaves.

Honestly, if Amora had time she would wander the beautiful forest, except the horses disagreed with her. Strongly. The strength of the portal had an effect on the horses. They weren’t used to the effect of a portal, especially when the hit the forest. They began to neigh loudly, even Loki’s obedient horse who was attempting to throw him off after he lost control of both pairs of reins.

Simultaneously, the two of them uncontrollably galloped in fright and sped up by the second. “Heel,” Amora commanded weakly, although it didn’t surprise her that the horse yet again, ignored her “ _Hey_!” She saw Loki was experiencing the same struggle with the warped horses as she was.

“Loki, what on Asgard is wrong with these beasts?” She shouted to him, although as hers was acting more strangely, his was beginning to calm and retreat.

He noticed her horse wasn’t effected by the same means as his “Amora, get off your horse!” He shouted back, demanding she alight the wretched beast “Do as I say!” The horse sprinted further into the forest, the trees above began to conceal the light, which made it gloomier and darker. The constant jump of the horse made a pit in her stomach, her eyes dazed from forward direction and the beat of her heart doubled as the speed increased.

Rapidly, the horse galloped through a parting, trees separated her from Loki and his horse, who were invisible to her now, on the other side of the parting only behind. She could hear the horses feet catch up, Loki’s screams to her. This wasn’t just an after-effect of the portal, it was a serious curse or spell placed on the horse, its eyes rolled over, baring white as if it were almost dead.

“Amora! You’ll have to jump,” he yelled through the parting, he sounded frightened, there was something – something wrong. Little did she know, there wasn’t much before her as the parting in the forest led to a dead-end cliff which was soon to end her and the damned horse. He was right, whatever was ahead was about the stop short her life. The horse was halfway there with its white brimmed eyes, following only one path, forward.

“Amora!” The piercing scream of her own name alerted her thoughts, she suddenly made contact with the rest of her body, unlatching her bags off the horse with force as she kicked her feet out the stirrups. Well, it was either doorway to death or…

…

In all of a sudden, she leapt off the horse, grabbing onto nothing but him. She threw herself towards her, hands reaching out to him, clawing at his clothes as she felt his arms grab and grasp her, pulling her onto the horse with a grunt. The sound of her own yelping wasn’t of fright but of pain, a searing feeling rushing through her leg, burning like fiery Hel when it reached her thigh.

Exhaling, a moan of pain left her mouth as she lay lopsided over his lap. Although in serious amounts of throbbing pain, she could see through her almost open eyes that he was shocked, and all together utterly speechless about whatever had happened. Loki halted the horse, slowly taking Amora with him as he stepped on the soggy ground. Her hair dampened as her head lay in watery grass, beats of rain drops untimely dripped onto her from above. Another liquid was running out her thigh, hot and sticky. Cold, icy hands pressed onto her thigh, quickly tearing clothing from her leg to wrap around the wound.

“Amora, there is an immense wound to your leg,” his voice was hoarse, almost scared as his hands trembled over her “I’ll heal it with magic, alright?” He never waited for agreement as he started to heal her thigh, thank the Heavens they were in another Realm for the tracking of magic couldn’t be reached all the way from Asgard. Amora could hear Loki’s gasps at her wound, it must’ve been worse than she originally thought. “When you jumped from the horse, something sharp caught you, I – I don’t know what, this wound is extremely grievous.”

The smell of dirt was her main sense, the watery essence of dirt making homage in her hair. The riding gear she wore was coated in splatters of oozing ruby reds with muddy water soaking through her. She eventually forced her eyes open, and that’s when a breathy gasp escaped her. She wasn’t sure which one of them was covered in more blood, him or her. He was on his knees in the mud, bending over her with cloths made of her torn clothes pressing against her lower half, hand on her neck to check her pulse and then another clutching her leg. Overall, he was leaning over her so protectively she could hardly see past him. Although she wasn’t going to, her eyes landed on his face as she stared at him, missing the fact he was busy tending to her. Once sleek, raven hair was mess and prim clothes so scruffy he could’ve been a beggar. Most importantly, his eyes never left her, written on his face was pure panic as he was trying to fix what was broken within her. In different circumstances, she had tried to do the same a long time ago, only to him. Yet, that was history, as they always were.

“Amora, stay awake.” He held her head up, not caring about her call for less close contact. She felt his breath on her cheeks, his hair on her neck and his hands on her body, protecting her and holding her ever so close, not to lose her again, ever.

Lazily, her arm draped over her with her eyes fluttering open and close as she struggled to avoid a slumber. Before she drooped into a heavy sleep, a wandering figure appeared from the parting of the forest. Coated in shadow, all that was clear was the voice. A sharp, high-pitched and ever so familiar voice.

“Would you care for some help?”

Even Loki was too contained with treating Amora that he didn’t hurry to look up. As a suspension of unconsciousness captured Amora at her weakest moment, the familiar wander flickered into her mind with an illuminating word.

_Sigyn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Askr - ash tree  
> Illr - bad, difficult


	6. Hate Is A Four Letter Word

_"The more hurt she gets, the more venomous she grows."_   
_**Emily Brontë** , Wuthering Heights_

* * *

 

 

Amora’s head felt heavier than a rock, she could’ve second-guessed herself that she was dead if it weren’t for her rapidly beating heart. She could barely place where she was if it weren’t for the smell of chemicals and too much cleaning product lingered under her nose, a waft of berry off the blankets made her feel unnecessarily sick. The entire place screamed hospital, accepting the fact that it was made her feel worse. It wasn’t that she disliked hospitals, or detested the need for medics, far from it. Supposing that the amount of times she had been sprawled across a white linen bed for whatever it be; blind-folded sword-fighting or poisoned from Asgardian delicacies. No, what made her tick was the very hospital room she was in. It reeked of Alfhiem, the very living and breathing creatures wandered the room. The Royal Palace of Alfhiem – could there be a worse Hel? What other royal hospital had needle pricks of wood that smelt like berries? This place, it made her feel unsafe. Supposedly it could be to do with the fact she could remember very little about what led her to medical room. She would very much rather be unconscious again at this minute.

“I do hope you are feeling better,” Well, the latter of what she could not place was slowly and painfully coming back to her. Managing her uncontended thoughts, Amora – without ease – pulled herself into a sitting position. Taking note of the particular white and coated-in-polish surroundings, _they needed something better than berries to clear the disgust in the air_. The walls and floors alike were as identical as before, she hoped she wouldn’t recall it. Like she had never been here before.

“You had quite a horrific accident over on the hill,”

Recognition dawned on her face and Sigyn could see that. If, if only she didn’t look at her, maybe she wouldn’t really be there. Or hopefully she would combust into flames, with or without the help of certain magical hexes. However, the sweet as sugar accent still spoke as her glassy eyes bore into Amora’s own emerald eyes. “The nurse said you were unconscious all yesterday, _poor thing_.”

At first, her scowling was invisible, though it unravelled as she stared at Amora. The doe-eyed bitch blinked innocently away as she leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with Amora. Sigyn disrespectfully entered her personal space, and if Amora forced Loki to back off, then Sigyn was serious trouble.

“We ought to get along, Amora, don’t you think?” Sigyn spoke effortlessly, as if she were truly attempting to conjure a friendship between them. Amora was surprised the flowers sown into her hair didn’t rot away with her personality.

“I don’t believe we do, not from the likes of _you_ anyway,” Amora copied her tone, dulling it down a little as she waited for Sigyn’s reaction.

“Then from _who?_ Sister Lorelei is in prison, and _lover boy_ you arrived here with – _well,_ he isn’t here.”

Amora hoped her previous comment was enough to sway Sigyn from sitting and speaking with her, however the only reaction she got was Sigyn’s raised eyebrow and grin that lingered long after her remark. To be fair, Sigyn was the one in the chair waiting for her to wake up. For however long she had been there, it made little sense as to why it was her and not Loki. Despite that, Sigyn was still the worst case of headache that anyone could have.

“See? I’ll leave you to rest for now.” Sigyn’s warm hand squeezed on Amora’s perfectly delicate ones placed in her lap. It took all her might not to scratch the skin off the tanned fingers of hers or break away in disgust. She was too busy wrapped up in her own thoughts, as usual, to note the situation. “ _Oh_ ,” Sigyn gasped deliberately as she stood which made Amora’s eyes leap to her “if you need anything, clothes or whatever – I have a few things of my sister’s that are a few sizes too big that would do fine on you.”

Amora practically had no time to comprehend what just came out of Sigyn’s mouth before she turned away, curls of hair forcing the flowers to swish as a ray of pink stardust with a wave of her hand which then practically led the way for her. With comments and grins like that, she was beginning to seem a lot like someone else Amora knew.

*

Sigyn was a pretty Princess ( ~~truly~~ ), she had her days; clever and useful with magic, however her talent wouldn’t and couldn’t be compared to Amora’s. _Never_. Sometimes she had a bearded, strong soldier on her arm and they would exchange flirty glances. He would be double her age and no one blinked an eye. Not for their pretty princess.

Amora was a Queen and everyone knew it. Spoken of as a seductress, her long list of lovers actually calculated down to very few, though no one stuck to the facts. Despite that, whenever she seemed to be swiftly unavailable, she never really was. Strolling down the corridor now, most of the maids and warriors that looked her way would’ve rather bow to her than their future Queen, she thought. It was so simple in their easy-read expressions.

One thing a Queen would do, is discharge herself quickly from any medical ward. Spending a day and night in Alfhiem’s palace hospital had already taken its toll on her; she had a used strawberry-scented nightgown on and her hair was in matted curls of blonde. To be fair, she probably appeared majestically untamed on her account. Yes, a majestically untamed Enchantress looking for her other half. The maids confirmed he had a room for the night, “ _Oh yes, Princess Sigyn made sure he was more than comfortable_ ”, of course she did. He wasn’t there. One of the guards directed her to a library which, honestly, took her by surprise as it was absolutely breath-taking.

The immense palace happened to be half the size of Asgard’s own golden beauty, it relished on high, gothic windows to appease its natural artistry. The stairs were steep and narrow, taking the chance and foolish idea to sprint at her was on her own head. Blinking at down each brown, boring hallway had Although, the slightly smaller than Asgard’s palace was a game of hide and seek for her, Loki was nowhere to be found. With a breath of despair, she aligned her back to a caramel-coloured wall as she paced her breaths from walking the length of the palace – _twice!_

Disappointment lurked in her heart, _no_ , her mind. The describable sense of failure she had felt too often, heavy and disappointing. From the view, although no one was there, she could see herself as a half-wheezing almost-dead sorceress, not the powerful Enchantress that rolled her own carpet on the corridors. Plain Amora who could barely switch Realms without being thrown into prison or even worse, hospitals. If her hands weren’t clinging to the sides of her nightgown, she would’ve conjured a third up to slap herself in the face, harshly. Her attempts to pull herself together had always been brought down by weak moments like this, and they were occurring all too often. Though, if one thing, she was able to keep herself present and kept. Besides her hair, that is.

Though, before any magical spells began to add limbs to her body, a chirpy voice brought her conscious alive and whipped her drowsy thoughts away.

“What’s wrong with your locks, _Goldie_?” Amora dragged her head to face her, if she wanted to know who she was, then she could. A fast mind-read would do the trick, though, there was something about this woman that told her no, and it wasn’t the sharp sword clutched in her hand.

The woman scrutinised her face briefly, wondering whether to act upon her thoughts and ask if she belonged here, it didn’t look like it for sure.

“Who are you?” The unrecongisable woman asked, head tilted to the side.

She had dark spiralling curls curtain her face though her glossy eyes popped out in curiosity. As Amora huffed, the woman’s head grew with questions that left Amora feeling quizzical about her nature, for all that she was.

“You are inscrutable, _gold girl_ , why is that?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Her answer was dry and boring, though all in all brutal truth.

“Why not?”

“...because _I_ don’t know.”

They both had the backs to the wall in the silence that separated them, the strange woman hummed as Amora’s conscious heated up, arguing over what and who she was. Amora distracted herself by surveying the woman next to her; she wore a silver uniform, a Valkyrie for Alfhiem and she had badges on her chest plate, so she must’ve been a catch in Valkyrie club. For all she knew, the Valkyrie had done the same, observing her up and down then making a final judgement.

“What am I?”

The question was more like a statement; it was in no way directed at the curious woman. She knew nothing about her, probably snippets of what Sigyn had whispered in her loyal Valkyrie ears.

“You are questionable, obviously,” the Valkyrie answered as her mouth curved into a smile, as if she enjoyed summing up people “from what Sigyn says, and that is not too much – “ she caught Amora’s wary expression “ – she says you are mysterious, that you don’t calculate but you know your next move, a tad roguish if you ask me.”

Amora spared the thought of deliberating over the comment of a stranger, she zoned out while the Valkyrie continued, “ – that man, is he yours? He’s handsome, though you two wouldn't be...? Although Sigyn has made her move…” Amora nodded in and out of the conversation briefly before the utter of Loki and Sigyn escaped the woman's mouth with her ongoing gossip. What did she mean? Sigyn had made her move... Her tiredness had swept away and she stood strong again, listening without intending to.

“ – Princess Sigyn took him away earlier, he was charmed by her it seems, well I heard that from one of the ladiesmaids…” Either this woman was a terrible gossip or she knew her logic and her facts, she knew she was getting under Amora’s skin and staying, wondering if she’d unleash the Enchantress within. “ – he isn’t yours though, is he? Aren’t you only on a mission for the palace, supposing that’s true, it would be frowned upon to embark on a relationship, wouldn’t it?” The Valkyrie was content in having her one-way conversation, edging further upon subject to grill Amora silently.

Amora wondered herself if it were purposely, or for a purpose? What if it were Sigyn in disguise? (not that her magic skills in that area – or any area – were actually exceptional) What if this Valkyrie had been ordered into cornering Amora and divulging information out of her. Not that she had gotten any, barely. “ – he seems so in touch with her, I saw them in the dining hall together, the way those two flow –“

Blood boiled in Amora’s veins, the sickly sweet image of those two appeared and flashed in her head, alarm bells rang as she played it over and over. Although for a burning second, Amora’s mind flashed with a thought that she couldn’t have imagined on her own, herself and Sigyn were more alike than they were unlike, they both desired love - at one point from the same man - they both wanted their hearts fulfilled one way or another. The unimportance of the questioning Valkyrie didn’t help, for the first time in her life, Amora couldn’t work someone out, couldn’t scan their mind in a dot-to-dot motion and she barely saw it necessary for this soldier was a stranger.

“ _ **ENOUGH!**_ ”

Her speech blasted and drew caution as the Valkyrie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Curls bounced in her face as she uttered various apologies that Amora never heard as she set off wildly down the corridor. The hospitalised girl in the nightgown disappeared, the immortal Enchantress had over taken the shell of Amora’s body. Supposing she was the jotted thoughts in the Valkyrie’s mind, the soul and spirit of a demon, or something worse; an alone demon with no one to be in ‘ _flow_ ’ with. Wherever she trampled down on now would be her firing zone, and she knew exactly where her next destination would be.

*

The dining room was dim, almost pitch black with draped curtains shielding the room from the light outside. The first thing she noticed was his raven hair, he had his back to her as he stood in the corner of the room, forcing conversation with whoever was in front of him, or so it seemed. Tables lined with violet runners stacked with foods Amora had no appetite for, goblets stood tall on silver-rimmed coasters as they outlined the spectacular centrepiece of unusual flowers. Amora’s feet worked speedily to join Loki. He was worlds away when Amora raced towards him, almost knocking him over at the full-forced speed of herself.

“ _Amora_!”

His voice was different, raspier and angrier – not in general, just when he spoke to her, moments ago he sounded almost blissful with that forceful conversation. A girlish gasp followed, within moments someone had reached out to Loki, pulling him away from Amora. “Where have you been?” It sounded simple and sing-song like in her head, yet when it came out her mouth she had upped her tone to match his previous angry quality. She steadied herself, as if she were in battle, though instead of swords she had her balling fists to use to advantage. The girly girl turned out to be Sigyn, obviously. Her eyes were like diamonds, not in the lovely, sparkling way but ones that could pierce your skin and cut you. Her delicate fingers had wrapped around Loki’s arm from where she had last touched him and decided to stay. Overall, she had slowly and surely taken Amora’s place.

“ _Pardon?_ ” Loki, who spoke to her like a misbehaving child, must’ve said it two or three times to knock her senses together, she was still clenching her teeth madly and scrunching up her gown in her balled fists.

“ _I said_ , where have you been?” Spoken darkly with all anger on Loki, she was in no fit mind to perfectly pinpoint her next remark. He took the brunt of it, and clearly wasn’t impressed. Then, she noticed, the room wasn’t as dark as it seemed. There were more people than she thought, it wasn’t crowded but it fit an audience, and they hung onto every word of tonight’s show.

“Amora, can we not – “

“What? Is there something wrong? Do you not want me here?” She directed the last word with amounts of emphasis she didn’t know she had, gesturing correctly at Sigyn before looking eyes and horns with Loki.

“Are you alright?” He had taken steps towards her, leaving a cross yet wary Sigyn behind with her arms folded together.

Both of his hands grabbed her arms, carefully making eye contact with Amora “What is it?” For a moment, her shaking body relaxed. Retreating from her outburst, her wrongly aimed anger and fuelled hysterics. She suddenly felt at home in his arms as he squeezed her, attempting to embrace her. That all changed in a blurred instant, the overwhelming urge to fight him rose again, _why him?_ Her heart screamed, though her mind had cut all chords to that.

“No,” Amora’s face twisted as she shuffled away from him more harshly than she intended, nudging into people behind her that only cared about the next blow “ _No, no, no_ …” His unlikely warm hands crawled onto her face, a second went by as Amora allowed it so Sigyn could see, then as his fingers landed on her cheek, she shrieked loudly. Lashing out, she scratched his hands away and Sigyn didn’t even fake a gasp as she momentarily stepped before Loki for his own safety and not just her flirtatious attempts.

“How dare you – “ With a scowling expression, her words became more bashful though her temper was fierce “ – how dare you associate with the likes of these –“ Amora’s rage dragged on as her fingers pointed to various faces in the room she never seen before, all except that damned Valkyrie (what the _bloody hel_ was she doing here?) that swiftly diverted her eyes as the startled faces around her thought the sensational witch would burn them with if they got too close. The unnamed faces weren’t the ones she was focused on though, only their Princess. Their too-good-to-be-bad Princess. Her hands flew into wild gestures again, sweeping the room into dead silence as her belittling shrieks echoed off the walls. The soaring possibility of being the mad Enchantress rose in her mind; all fireworks and twisted passions about disasters. Or, on the other hand, simply a girl who’d lost heart, had lost home and had the increasing like of losing it all again. Then, all at once, she realised, Sigyn wasn’t the real aim – Sigyn wasn’t the one she was searching for.

“ – but _YOU_!” If the goblets in the room were replaced with glasses, they would’ve been smashed smithereens by now. His face crumpled, waiting for her to strike. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed that she had downed too much alcohol. Everyone else in the room seemed to think so. More and more crowded, some of had hurried in after overhearing her noisy confrontation. Nothing like this probably ever occurred before, not in Alfhiem.

“ – you.” Amora’s digested the surrounding before setting her sights to the man she once called her love in front of her “you are the _worst,_ you are weak and a fool! A fool to rely on _ceased_ love from the likes of, _of_ Thor or – or myself! _You_ , you go to her – “ her wet eyes glowered at Sigyn and then began twisting the knife in further “I don’t want you, nor need you. You are a disastrous pawn in a game too big for your boots, you are not a King, you are a monster.”

Pearly-white teeth clenched together as every last word dripped with loathe. He blinked at her subconsciously, not knowing what to do, or where to stand. Or what to say. At first, he opened his mouth to say something, then his lower lip quivered and suddenly snapped shut. He had nothing to say, just like she had nothing to lose. _Hm, seem to have struck more than a nerve_ …

“ _Kvikindi_.” She spat at last.

Amora wanted him to read her mind, not telepathically, because he just looked like he knew. She wanted him to know what she thought of him. Every last degrading word. Good. It seemed he already had, or was halfway there by the time his eyes had swelled up. With a final choleric stare in his direction, she washed her hands of him and speedily turned on her heels then held a burning glance to the crowd which had grown considerably since her last look. She supposed she had lost her sense of alluring while she hated on Asgard’s finest. Bug-eyed Sigyn in the corner had since stepped forward, pussy-footing around Loki until she went in for the kill – wrapping her long arms around him as he, and all his pride, eventually gave in.

She wanted to break him, in the same way he broke her. Quickly, angrily, all at once. In front of people, embarrassingly, close-minded in a way although, the only one she seemed to tear apart was herself.

She no longer wanted to observe what she had started. Not at all.

Storming off, past the oddly-edged furniture as heads immediately turned to see if she would evacuate in a burst of dazzling gold and green sparks or slam the door like a child in trouble. She did neither.

After all this time, she was lost again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kvikindi - Creature


	7. The Memories We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are memories.

_"They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."_  
_**F. Scott Fitzgerald** , This Side of Paradise_  
  


* * *

 

 

They had spent two days apart, which was unusual since their first encounter in the throne room, in fact that hadn’t really spent much time apart. It also meant they were off schedule, by now they would’ve had the _askr_ and should be on their way to Jötunheimr. At least one of them was on schedule. Amora had packed her bags in the quiet of the night then left without a final word to anyone in the palace, besides the maid she asked to call a carriage and to keep her word to herself. When she collapsed her on bed that night – the one set aside if she ever woke up in the hospital – she had simply come to the terms that if she finished collecting the items for the weapon, she could leave. Supposedly, she could leave any time she wanted, although if she truly craved freedom – and the guards of Asgard not to be on her back – she would have to carry forth the task that they both set out the do.

When she saw him for the first time since their showdown, to put it plainly, he looked absolutely awful; red-rimmed eyes, the usual sleek hair appeared tousled and curled at the edges, the worst of all, he couldn’t even bare to look at her. Had she affected him that badly? Supposing as it was intent, it would’ve given her satisfaction to see him miserable. Although, it only reminded her of herself – almost like a reflection – when he had ‘died’ the first time around. That was day one of the impeccable Enchantress falling apart, her heart had cracked perfectly in two.

_The door clicked as it shut, another one of those enchanted locks were left on the door. Always taking precautions with his privacy, Amora could've firmly stated that she was one of the few that was allowed in there. She wandered aimlessly around the room, letting her hands skim the dusty bookshelves, ones she'd already read and then re-read to Loki. She passed the desk which was piled with odd objects which highlighted her path; weird artefacts from various realms, ink pots that had spilled and dried, then over in the corner, sitting on the chair, was his armour. Dropping to her knees, she lifted a finger to run along the horned helmet, glimmering in the shadows. She imagined his handsome face, always a permanent smirk etched on it. Endless raven locks which curled round his neck, ones she'd brush away to see his complete, beautiful face. The same untameable locks that she used to wake up to. His eyes that hid warped mischief from all else, emerald orbs that grabbed your attention so that you slowly submerged into a world of desire. A world of edge, a world that would suddenly strike you before dawn._

Amora shook senseless at the memory, he hadn’t actually died, presumably. Sighing loudly in the cushy carriage, she picked on the memory that had reintroduced to the feeling of losing him all over again, although this time around, she had purposely done it – out of rage? Out of hate? She furiously questioned herself. When breaking each other bit by bit, she realised it wasn’t rage or hate or anything similar. It was the love, forbidden love that broke them intently however they showed it. It was harder to love than it was to hate. And it forever teared them apart.

_Amora collapsed onto the seat, moving aside other armoured pieces; his old sword that he despised using, some cuffs and a badge that stated he was a warrior of Asgard. No, not of Asgard. They should’ve never given him that badge. She held the helmet in her hands, gripping it to breaking point. Hot, blurry tears clouded her vision as she cursed miserably. She deemed it a weakness to show emotion, especially herself, although she could not control it now. Her hand met her face to stroke away the tears running down her neck. Shifting uneasily, she noticed that she was sitting on something, a coat or cloak of some sort. As she brought it towards her, a new wave of emotion rushed over her because she suddenly recognised what it was. His cloak. The tears came pouring down like rain as she pulled the cloak towards her chest, her beating heart against his emerald cloak. A piece of him near her heart, she needed him. She needed him so, so much._

Amora reminded herself that she wasn’t so needy anymore. She couldn’t even place why she had returned to Asgard for that, it was only a few weeks after her banishment and suddenly he dropped dead? It would’ve been less time consuming if he lost life while she was still in the Realm. Sneaking back to the place where one was previously banished? Not such an easy task. Anyway, she never counted that as returning, when she recently came back for an actual funeral for an actual death the Kingdom had thought had occurred, that was returning. Yet, that didn’t seem to go to plan either. _What a waste of a black dress._

_Since clinging to the cloak, she heard her own screams echo back to her in the lost room knocked her thoughts, screaming and crying couldn't bring him back. She let the cloak slip past her fingers, falling into a crumpled heap on the floor where she saw his slippers neatly lined up - always one for tidiness. Moving the shining armour from her lap, she placed it on the desk as she brought two fingers to her lips then placing them on his helmet, if she couldn't kiss him in the presence, this was the second best option. She let her eye wander, the curtains were half drawn, the bed was roughly made, pillows clustered along silky sheets that she once slept it – not like that, never like that._

_Advancing towards the bed, she ran her hands along the edges, feeling the silk sheet under her fingers as she sat upon it. Falling against the fabric like she'd done many times before, she relaxed against the feel of the sheets which still smelled like him. Still had the shape of him, still had been tossed in the morning after a relapse of 'untidiness' for once and still the same when he would return at night, with or without Amora. The countless times she'd slept in that very bed, sometimes cuddled up with him so in the morning they'd be flung over each other. Other times near the start of their relationship, when they both nearly had heart attacks realising they'd fallen asleep across each other, sprawls of each other's hair fluttered over eyes that never really closed. "My Loki," she murmured in a moment of weakness, tossing and turning in the sheets which slowly consumed her into a slumber._

No, not anymore. He was never hers. Not even today, as she sat upright in the carriage, a thought suddenly alerted her. Did he know about that? About her rummaging through his things when he passed? Did he truly believe what she said to him, about them, about love?   
Looking to grasp something, anything, her love had left. That was sad, even for her, surely he would find a way to use it against her if he knew.

“Alright, my Lady?” The driver asked as he pelted a whooping whip on the horse in front. Amora glanced up at him, he had twisted half his body round to catch her eye. All busy mustache with a slight cap. She hadn’t paid much attention to him, although he regarded her with fair attention, especially now as her eyes were unintentionally blotchy. Actually, somewhat extra attention as his eyes downcast onto her silver gown.

“Fine, thank you,” she spoke quietly “ _proceed_.”

* If anyone ended up asking him about his first initial ‘death’, he would calmly decline and not bother answering the weird questions some people presumed about death. Albeit, if anyone stuck their noses in and begged for some reception about what other people made of it; Thor, his mother or Amora. He hadn’t had much to say, he knew Thor mourned equally as a brother and a friend, the same could be said for Frigga, a mother losing a son faltered her. Although not many words could appease what Amora felt and even today, he still found him thinking of the time Thor found Amora crying with grief in his room. Thor first told him when he found Loki on Midgard, suddenly full of life. It was most likely guilt-trip him, that was what he would say to cover up what he actually felt. Still, the look in Thor’s eyes still haunted him as he accounted the events of that night.

_Creeping quietly, Thor dotted his footsteps carefully as he reached where Amora lay, curled up in familiar emerald sheets. Noticing the armour pile on the desk signaled to him that she'd come across it, then become too attached. Even he could still picture his little brother in his grown up armour, the continuous teasing between the two which resulted in Frigga hiding both helmets - to which Amora had easily found again, then the following day (at a rather exquisite party) where she and Sif intoxicated themselves too much and dressed like their suitors, which made them very popular among the not just the ladies, but many men too. A smile grew on Thor’s face at the memory as he fetched Loki's cloak in his hands, the one Frigga had made and the Warriors Three had blustered him for because he'd rather wear something his Mother had made rather than an expensive garment. With every ounce of regret, Thor wished he could've gone back and ceased their playful torment, no wonder Loki had escaped to the library where he stumbled upon his new mysterious friend. She knew magic, he liked magic. It seemed the Warriors Three never ran out of topics to tease him over, be it magic, mother or 'Mora'. An early morning, definitely in the Spring, Fandral had been in early training (technically a lie, he was drunk the night before and slept on one of the training mats) where Loki and Amora had been too, practising not too lethal spells on each other where in a rushed moment of desire for one another, the younger brother complimented her graciously "Very good 'Mora, try it on your sister sometime." The two erupted into laughter. Fandral never let him forget it. Thor held up the cloak, eyes running over tears and rips. The way his belongings had been handled ruthlessly by the guards had irked him, Loki would never have his things in such a state. Most of the time. He diverted his eyes back to the desk, cluttered with such things Thor couldn't put a name to. Although, a picture frame facing downwards caught his attention as he reached out to it, intending to stand it up before catching a glimpse of the photo._

He despised people searching through his belongings; incompetent guards lazily throwing items around, leaving trails of dirt off their boots and cracking picture frames. Ah, the picture frame that had been discreetly tucked away – or turned facedown when he and Amora had fought – had been found quickly. Not by the guards, by Thor who had foolishly struggled to bring it up _._

_A beautiful black and white photo framed a moment that was never forgotten. It was cracked in the corner, yet that didn’t change the blissful expressions in the portrait. He gazed at the picture of Loki and Amora on the night of Frigga's birthday ball. Both faces overfilled with joy that was hard to find words for, two beaming faces crossed with happiness, two sets of eyes squeezed shut as laughter erupted from the upturned mouths. The overflowing gold and black gown of Amora's was pulled in by Loki's hands circling her waist, as her own pale arms were around his smart, handsome uniform. Another thing the Warriors Three found a good teasing in order, Thor suddenly felt better about the whole thing after they mistakenly made their jokes and jests in front of Amora - whose spell of turning them into hapless frogs didn't look so bad then. They were the picture of love, literally._

There was a knock, the wood chirped as somebody’s knuckles rattled on the door. Loki didn’t move an inch; he was still hunched over the desk that drew a strange sense to him. Weird, bitsy objects like frozen insects acted as paperweights to a flower vase that contained no flowers, just branches. The knock grew louder and after a moment or two, the handle jerked and a walking figure of arrogance approached.

“You didn’t join us at breakfast, what’s the matter?”

Sigyn’s annoyingly long arms wrapped around him. Amora didn't hold him like that. It wasn’t the way Amora saw it, those two. After Amora stormed off in rage the previous night, Sigyn rolled her shoulders and floated back in the conversation that revolved around tonight’s ball. She had been so arrogant, laughing along with her friends that Amora was deluded and jealous. That her anger would wear off if she’d bump into a roaming guard and lay with him, or a suggestion from one of Sigyn’s friends “she should go back to sleep again, maybe forever…” then their shriek of laughter blocked out any common sense, if they had any. “I, I have to pack.” For someone who was excellent at lying, this was the first that was lazily flat and lame. Plus, most of his belongings hadn’t left his bag, so in a championship of excuses he was sure to lose. Of course, she didn’t buy it, but having Loki at breakfast wasn’t her main aim. With a squeeze and a flutter of lashes, she released him and swayed to his side

“Pity. You shouldn’t leave, it wouldn’t do you any good,”

She clearly meant Amora, it was written on her face. Her occasional flirting had been fun, though it seemed Amora was right when she had suspected something. Nothing followed the flirting, except that was what Loki hoped. On the other hand, Sigyn had expected something, if anything to continue where they last left off.

“Do you mind?” He ignored her comment on his soon to be absence as he gestured to the drawer that she was standing in front. Of all the items he brought with him, few were locked in the drawer for safekeeping. Sigyn, without hesitation, collected herself and walked to the other side of him, releasing a bored sigh. Instantly, he unlocked the drawer with a wisp of emerald magic then scooped up the contents in a single hand. Behind him, Sigyn peered like a hawk to catch a glance at whatever he held. She was rather interest now.

“What do you have there?” At once, Loki clutched the photo in his hand to keep her prying eyes from seeing. Also crunched in his hand was the necklace that once belonged to Amora, sitting on her chest ever so effortlessly, wearing it wherever she went. It was tiny, microscopic in his eyes. A single chain of gold with a pure, real emerald hanging beautifully – he had waited until the right time to gift it to her. He had worked furiously hard to find something to resemble their friendship, hoping she would accept it. He didn’t want her to forget him. It was unbreakable, as were they: once. The crumpled photo that was teared at edges and damaged greatly, yet he still carried to everywhere. Always in a pocket, or a bag or a drawer, he never left it off his person. It pictured a blurry photo of Amora from times before, billowing blonde hair highlighting her glassy, emerald eyes even in the black and white image. She wasn’t looking directly at the camera – Frigga had forced Thor and Loki to share, their problem wasn’t sharing it was that neither of them were particularly decent at using the new device. When the film ran out and one of the maids had printed the photos, most of them were Thor’s photography skills (weapons. He photographed weapons) yet the single one that the maid had privately handed to the second Prince, was of Amora. He kept it ever since. Even now, when she hated him.

He wanted to retch when he realised the only person that probably didn’t loathe him right now was Sigyn. Pretty, clever Sigyn who wanted love but could never understand it. Sigyn, whose nails pierced his skin and whose kisses were sweet yet too forceful. Amora was the storybook witch but Sigyn held the façade of masterminded bitch well. Even with her demeaning and useless abilities, she deserved someone, another Prince who could share her with the Kingdom and who could treat her well. They weren’t children anymore, he wasn’t going to court Sigyn to make hot-headed Amora jealous, like he had once done. They were adults, and sometimes adults acted like children, whether they wanted to or not.

_Thor treated his brother as a grown up, not a child in trouble or the wrong blooded prince, he remembered a moment which Loki used to swear never happened. Where they both sat, Thor more drunk than his brother, admitting truthful things about everyone. Thor had unintentionally let his tongue run the list of his lovers; Sif didn’t make the list. Other things were mostly stupid, bitchy things that they were too drunk to recall, except when Loki let slip that he had "fallen in love with Amora." Thor reminisced about that moment, he so easily remembered because it was the whole truth (Loki denied it) and Thor would’ve believed him, if he hadn’t strolled up to Sigyn the very next day and called things off. Inside, Thor was as equally as content as Loki was because he knew he was in love with someone else. He even persuaded his brother to collect a ring of some sort - just in case. He never could remember the answer, just the chuckle of laughter in return. However, a secret Thor solemnly kept to himself was that when he'd come to this room shortly after the passing, far before the guards searched it. He stumbled upon a beautiful ring, glittering in the moonlight, a stunning emerald sitting in the middle of the carved silver, just waiting to be placed on Amora's finger. Too late, Thor suddenly thought. The worst part of the memory sunk into his skin, he never forgot when Thor told him every detail of Amora’s not-so-private mourning. Even if it were for guilt-tripping, it was certainly working. Thor twisted around, pacing over to the sleeping figure, curled up in Loki's bed. Every few minutes her body would hiccup, tired from the tears she'd shed, leaving damp patches on the sheets. Barely leaning over her, he placed the cloak over her without her stirring. Her rhythmic breathing steadied eventually as she, for once, looked peaceful wrapped up in her lover's belongings. "Goodnight, Amora," Thor patted her head gently, her face still wet from her crying "He loved you so."_

**Loved**. Even with Sigyn floating about – he knew he didn’t love her for certain, although that didn’t clear things up with Amora. Although, something in his heart still stung for Sigyn, she was always there at the right time, when a situation occurred with Amora that made him want to lock himself in his room, like a child. Supposing, he patched things up with Amora, it wouldn't last. Maybe he wasn’t in love with Amora anymore. No, it had been too long, they were grown up now, not childhood sweethearts. He was wiser than to fall for the magical, alluring Enchantress all over again. Maybe it was for the best, he didn’t love her anymore.


	8. Slave Of The Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are past/memories

_"Don't get too close, it's dark inside. It's where my demons hide."_

_Demons, **Imagine Dragons**_

 

* * *

 

 

The blistering cold hit Amora like shards of ice piercing her skin. She had swapped her cherry-smelling attire for a beautifully patterned silver gown. The only downfall was that it didn’t keep out the freezing temperatures, she had to use a thick, fur-trimmed cloak for that.

Ironically, she wished it was warmer, though due to the heat in Muspelheim where she spent most of her banishment, she had longed for blanketing blizzards in the freezing cold, like this one.

She knew it was daytime, yet the sky was a frightful black gazing down over the Realm that was coated in a blanket of snow. She was in Jötunheimr.

That was all she knew. In the far distance, over hills that grew into mountains and snow that became thin ice, she could make out a castle glimmering in blue, a simple façade of what it really was. Her golden hair flew in front of her face as the storm became harsh, winds whispering past her ears as she searched for cover. Pale hands trembled as she pulled her cloak tighter around her, locating shelter in a cave, its entrance curtained by sharp shards of ice.

Carefully controlling her movements, she manoeuvred herself around them and settled in the cave, exhaling as a chilly cloud of breath evaporated before her. Her head lolled against the uncomfortable rock which acted as a suitable pillow for the time being, she crossed her arms over her to keep her warm. Then all together, all at once she fell into an undisturbed yet well-deserved slumber.

Her sleep showed sickly images of soon to be couple, _Princess_ Sigyn and _Prince_ Loki together. Her mind had played numerous games with her, sharing various situations of them both; married, bundles of children running around them, being completely enamoured with each other. At least she hoped it was her head spinning tales, she’d rather not have that actually be real and occurring.

With a rotten smell dragging her out of her snooze, Amora muttered in a foreign tone before stretching. As her fist poked the air, it came into contact with something that burned. Her wild eyes darted open, directly landing on a creature of blue. She had seen them before, _one_ in particular. Her wide eyes landed on her fist, watching the icy burn quickly fade as a huge, gnarly Frost Giant in front of her hopped back, as if _she_ were the monster.

Crimson eyes appeared wild on the leader of the pack, he spoke in foreign tongue – yet Amora could was practically fluent in the language.

“ _It must’ve been that rift, the one across the shore – all the Asgardians use it, most of Vanir too, if either are ever ready for battle!_ ”

A chuckle followed, although it sounded like throaty laughs coming from monsters of ice. _No, no_ , not monsters…

“ _We just deliver the stowaway to Headquarters as usual_.”

“ _You sure? The last time we had a stowaway, Laufey was in charge_.”

“ _Do you see him complaining? If he has a problem with our new King then he can crawl out his grave and post a submission!_ ” It was a joke then ended in a growl, clearly the leader of the pack was speaking and his orders were obeyed when all six beastly creatures heightened with power, brandishing their weapons at his command.

 

*

 

The demented eyes glared down at her.

An unknown Frost Giant had become worthy of Laufey’s throne, he was most likely related through some distant relative and that seemed acceptable to the people of Jötunheimr. It was obvious that they worshipped him, five of the pack of guards dropped to their knees with their bowed heads lowered honourably, the previous one who withheld an issue with the leader, slowly kneeled to the ground with a grunt.

Beating red eyes rolled off his guards onto her as he studied her as she lay in a heap on the floor, she practically felt violated as his malevolent eyes traced every inch of her, as if he was trying to frame her to a memory.

“ _This one have a name_?” The King mumbled, yet each and every Giant of the pack heard him clearly and jumped to answer him.

“ _We never directly discussed anything with the female, she is unknown to us_ – “

All the King had to do was raise a single icy hand, silencing the Giant from speaking. He had heard enough and had made that clear.

“ _She is oh-so familiar, what is her nature?_ ” The King placed two fingers under his chin, forcing his memories back to him as he directed the question at the same one who had previously spoken.

“ _Again, my King, no questions were directed –_ “

The hand rose again, and the King was bored of the pathetic answers. Instead, he stared preciously at Amora with intensifying glares until he knew when to ask “Where are you from then, girl, the outskirts?”

He spoke in perfect Asgardian, a grin formed on his lips as if he already knew everything about her, or if he wished. Amora’s grotty hair had been swiped behind her shoulder as a smile peeled from her lips as she lifted her head to greet him an expression of disgust.

“The Golden Realm.” Her distinct, other-worldly voice echoed in the icy halls, the King was overall correct about her location. Only his face showed no claim to the achievement, his eyes bore into the back of his head as if he were pulling memories together. Blue, cold hands rubbed together, piecing pieces of puzzles to somehow recall the green-eyed girl before him.

“What are you _, a souvenir_?” His frosty accent hit variably on those Asgardian words “Where did we last meet, girl?”

Amora’s clammy hands couldn’t of gripped together more if she tried, the cuffs were one thing, but her fear of the Frost Giant remembering whatever he thought of her. Not that she could name anything, this was a new king, what could he know?

The leader of the pack of giants looked especially confused. With a wave of his abnormally large hand, five giants made their way to follow him before a thundering roar from the king “ _You! Stay_!” He screeched at the leader in his foreign tongue “ _Take her to the common ground_.”

The five others scarpered, transparent with fear of their king as he threw his rage around. Mostly directing it at the leader, who lost his title of strong and husky as he scurried along the floor, sliding up against Amora as he hooked his hands onto her, forcing her movement along the cobbled ground.

It seems the King had suddenly struck a note on the dull instrument in his head. His memories flooding back to him showed on his face, Amora guessed the villains of the Realms shared secrets between them – little did she know she would be one.

Pointed up edges of stone scraped her knees as she was dragged across the floor, barely keeping up with herself as the ugly henchmen (they weren’t Frost Giants – there would be a noticeable difference between crimson eyes and glassy plain, brown ones) who certainly didn’t care for however bruised and bashed she became on the way.

The leader of the pack had taken her to a shaft, lowering the level to what they called the ‘common ground’. It simply turned out to be the underground pit to the palace, all incredibly freezing and darker than the eyes of a demon. It was kept well by individuals with wide eyes, every time the shaft operated their eyes would bounce out their head at the sight of life.

Their destination had ended up in an echoing room, layered bricks falling apart below the palace in the dirt and grime of the cells underneath. Amora had travelled to and from many Realms, although she calculated this very room the worst place to be in all nine of those Realms.

 

*

 

Screams of agony rushed through the halls, running up the walls and through the floors. Her closed eyes lost contact with her limbs, two hands being pulled behind her head with strong grips by guards, as for her legs being curled underneath her. The most uncomfortable position followed by the most uncomfortable torture.

Painful piece of skin peeled off her back as she shook, carefully staying still as if it would cure her agony. Her skin had been ripped from her again, just like her heart had – but not in the same way. Breaths of relief escaped her, she counted the number of lashes, she knew when they would halt – usually in case of death by bleeding.

She remembered it being worse, maybe she had simply gotten used to it. After all, she experienced lashes before, sharp and harsh on bare skin. Jötunheimr was one of the few Realms to still keep it in practice, other Realms weren’t balanced on the subject; they either thought it was too harsh or not harsh enough.

She was prepared this time, as soon as the icy gates of the Palace opened, her thoughts ran at full speed back to her. Everything was an adventure back then, the lashes lasted no more than a mere minute before her saviour swiftly appeared, cradling a bleeding and weeping Amora in her best dress. Although this time, it was different, she believed she was going to be bereft of life as soon as she reached the underground cells. Where their practice was kept.

Hours passed, she had quickly become accustomed to the freezing temperatures. Like she had used to.

At around dawn, or what she supposed was dawn by the cracks through the crumbling wall (then again it was very much packed underground). Huge and dirty henchmen, again not Frost Giants, had quite literally picked her up and dragged her out the cell. Tired eyes became desperate too quickly, any chance of regaining sight of any above land level was her only desire. To not see or feel the frost ripping into her skin was the next, her third was undecided and even with the amount of time she spent disclosed with herself, she had not come close to an eerily mad voice drowning her thoughts, yet.

Although, maybe it was tiredness she could account for. It certainly showed, her legs barely made contact with the ground and she knew one of her arms hung limply around a scoundrel’s neck. _She had actually been abducted by a host of Frost Giants_ , the not-yet-mad voice in her head told her clearly.

That was one for the next dinner party.

 

*

The second meeting with the King had turned her stomach, even with no dinner and no breakfast, she felt as if she were about to vomit anything at the given moment of just looking at his grotesque face. Grey hairs sprouted from his face as his warped eyes – the only place that didn’t contain threads of hair - scanned her.

“The slave of Surtur…”

If there were one thing that the guards noted about Amora, it was her unattached emotional armour she carried around. Ever since she arrived, hastily dumped onto the floor without a squeak, only ever the lacklustre eye-rolls and the curses in the languages they couldn’t understand. The torture they had orchestrated so painfully and so harshly that the only effect they had, was on themselves. Yes, she shrieked as the lashes hit and crunched her knuckles into the gravel, curled up after the session into an uncomfortable position. However, she never possessed an attitude which left when she was placed in vulnerable situations, it stayed all the way and stayed all the same. To be frank, they were almost frightened of her independent, majestic and powerful self – even if she did produce tears, sweat and blood all at once.

Amora’s face had been completely concealed when she landed with a thump in front of the King – she may of practised. Only a crack of sensitivity and apparent shock had reached her when the King had stopped for air. If he were watching a play, and she was the lead, it would be very poor acting indeed.

“I’m rather irritated by your lack of response, _Amora_.”

Now, if she were in the audience and the King was bumbling around on stage, truth to be told, he appeared quite stung. He had researched his homework and all he intended for was the reaction he was waiting for.

“I – I am not bound by that title anymore.” She retorted with a collapsing composure.

“ _Oh, you are_ ,” The King continued “especially by the extremes that Surtur went to keep you, you are still his girl.”

Before, he seemed barely intimidating by just lounging on his throne of ice all day. Now, as his long legs scaled the steps as he forced himself up, collecting his staff as he carefully calculated his movements down the steps, he became far more overawed. As he was now on the same level as Amora, not just on the floor, he studied her all more particularly and furthered the salt in the wound.

The cape that appeared more like a carpet trailed behind him as he advanced towards in which he still managed to handle the look of sublime royalty. The individual, forcibly on both knees in front of him, enslaved by both the demon Surtur and at current, the new bold Frost Giant King of Jötunheimr. Although, now he knew her past, and whoever said that rulers of Realms didn’t congregate?

“You will be back with your master within the hour,” He had made such an effort to get down the steps at whatever age he was, exhaling puffs of air which he blew into Amora’s face “we compromised.”

Drawing his eye-level contact between Amora and his herd of guards waiting at bay for another order, he heighted himself and shook with a roar, unleashing a belly of a prolonged cry. The hilt of the staff was clutched in his shaking blue hand, connecting with the floor with a sudden bang.

His continuing howl echoed the room and he finished with a bellow of “ ** _GUARDS._** ”

 

*

 

How _thoughtful_ of them.

The King unfortunately spoke the truth, especially when he and Surtur had compromised a deal. Plus, travel. The delivering of Surtur’s escaped slave was definitely tricky, the matter of heat versus ice complication surfaced which resulted in many of the non-Frost Giant slave boys from the underground taking Amora to Muspelheim instead.

 _Delightful_. Especially the part where six of the common ground boys were crammed into the carriage, which appeared tacky and old, with Amora. It was all she could think about, the colour of the carriage, the amount of tears in the seat – anything to take her mind off of the very real and true fact that she was going back to, to the insanity pit of life. Amora had experienced her worst nightmares and reminisced her wildest dreams. Although, she never believed that she would be back in the place she called Hel, once again.

_After partly pulling herself together, she slouched in the carriage while one of the guards struggled to put restraints on her limp wrists, they had just lost life in them. Just like she had so quickly lost everything that kept her heart pounding._

Forcing herself back into contact with reality, her body shook when it passed through the rift. The slave boys were not used to it and they trembled, yet she had skipped Realms before. Although, not this one in particular in a while, the memory brought it all flooding back. The blood grew heated in her body, hair began sticking to the back of her neck and she felt the desire to fall asleep. The Realm suddenly picked up pace and contacted with those in the carriage, not to mention the horses struggling with the torturous heat outside. Their frantic neighs set the unusually young driver off as he uttered pleas to leave quite quickly.

“Drop the damned girl off and let’s leave this blasted Realm,” He soothed his horses after using such a harsh tone for such a small boyish body “there, there – Muspelheim is no place for these creatures!”

She imagined if another driver like him would’ve said the same thing back then. However, back then she simply was left stranded in Muspelheim, delivered by two tactless Asgardian guards that knew no better.

_The pair of guards turned on their heels as soon as they felt the Realm engulf them with heat. Amora’s eyes bobbed out her head, searching frantically for a water source as she sweltered in the place hotter than Hel itself. The scorching weather exasperated her. The sudden treasured silk pink bath robe had brought her down, so heavy in the heat that it dragged along behind her. The thought that flew through her head almost persuaded her to drop it where she stood and continue her path in her lace nightgown._

_The demon Surtur had been tipped off by none other than the King of Asgard about the latest arrival to his home. He rubbed the stubble of his chin as he sat lopsided on his throne, eager to meet what would most likely be, a new addition to his servant boys. One ventured up the steps, dressed in dirty clothes as he delivered a scroll to his King. He was young, orphan most likely. Most of the lads were orphaned by magical parents, it was what Surtur was known for, keeping magical descendants as slaves. Surtur despised sorcery, not his own work of fire. He never considered that magic, just pure and real art._

They were in the palace now, Amora had gotten lost in her head with the memories playing against the reality of the situation. She was figuring out what was real and what was past when it suddenly struck her that this was the moment, that she was giving up herself.

“Your majesty, from our Realm to yours.” The boy bowed and stumbled away, making a swiped gesture at Amora before wiping sweat off his forehead.

By the time Amora had acknowledged Surtur once again, forced by guards that is, she had no intention of expressing emotion, but all she wanted to do was scream. She was incredibly far from her usual self; exhausted, dripping in sweat and terribly frightened. She possibly would scream if a mirror was present.

_“Mighty Surtur!” Bellowed one of the golden guards “Asgard’s recent banishee, the Enchantress, is a gift to you from Odin.”_

_These annual gifts usually kept a peace between Asgard and Muspelheim, although both Surtur and Odin knew that Amora would be enough to hold the treaty for much longer. If not, forever._

The palace was actually quite cool compared to the outside although the guards that stood around the room were beetroot red in the face. Surtur was seated in the centre, on a throne of fierce sovereign. She had previously unintentionally kneeled before a frosty king, been banished by the Golden Realm’s ruler though despite all that, Surtur seemed far scarier with his devilish red cape rolling around him like flames of fire.

_Surtur nodded, and Amora caught glimpse of him as he leaned into the light. If there was any breath left in her, she would’ve gasped. Most of his face secured harsh burns, his right eye was blackened out and his hooked nose dripped over his mouth. Unconsciously, he had shifted and placed both of his hands under his chin, viewing this new gift from a distance._

_“Odin tells me you are a beauty, he is right” Surtur’s deep voice shook her insides “you are a magician, yes?”_

_Amora’s bottom lip wobbled as both guards behind her were uncertain who was answer. A foolish schoolgirl had asked the same question long ago, back then Amora had simply flicked her fingers and the girl’s pigtails were alight with flames. In the silence, she gave a slight nod with a whisper of a 'Yes' and held back tears that were about to unintentionally run down her face._

With the same throaty voice and drippy nose, Surtur reintroduced himself to his former slave “Greetings Beauty, you left so soon, too soon…”

The tears that threatened to pour down her face, did.

 


	9. Commitment To The Man

_"All this time I was finding myself and I didn't know I was lost."_  
**\- Wake Me Up, _Aloe Blacc_**

The stone walls trapped her and confined her. Blocking all signs of the outside world, whether time had travelled or not, she hadn’t kept up her carved calendar which had only counted eight days, after that she weakened away from acknowledging anything but staying alive.

She did try, it wasn’t down to her that the rotten scraps of food feed to the individual cellmates had considerably less healthy content than dirt on the ground. Or, even the temperatures underground, her body continued to be harassed by the freezing spells that discovered her at night. It seemed so colder then, so alone and so frightening. Unlike when imprisoned in Asgard, the guards purposely never noticed her and it made her contemplate whether to claw her eyes out. Asgard had many flaws, though the somewhat friendly company of a glittery, gold guard seemed warmer than the hottest realm in all the nines.

This she debated most days, though now, she simply drifted into a slumber. Again. Like she had done for most of her time there.

*

Sitting in her cell, bars and all. The only time the guard wasn’t there was now, he was ordered to fetch her food or clothes. According to whispers, every new ‘gift’ had spent their first few months in a cell, forcing them to accept their new circumstances and at the end of the period, they had to commit (a passionate marital act) to Surtur and if not, they would spend further months in solitary. She silently thanked Valhalla for the coldness of underground, heat rises and bless, the cold stays buried.

To some, Surtur seemed to despise the so-called ‘Magicians’ he spoke of. She only recognised another, a fragile mousy-brown haired woman in the opposite cell, her fingers twitched and every so often when they did, sparks shot out unexpectedly. Amora doubted that she was famous enough to made pages of books or dinner conversations, the only possible factor that led her to believe the woman acted with sorcery was that she was she only one not to commit.

The guards so frequently gossiped about the inmates, when they entered the cells and when they left. Even snippets of their performances which led to Amora cursing her talent of eavesdropping. The guards recited immense details about past inmates, how they had crippled down in prison, forcing themselves upon Surtur as their weaknesses showed and bared through their wounds. Flashes of burgundy shone through as Amora realised she would eventually succumb to that state, a natural state of a weak slave with a fragile mind. It pained her to admit it, supposing she sat in a rotten cell for months on end, rotting away herself. Sooner or later she would, she knew would refrain from the all-consuming, all-powerful – at least not in this case - Enchantress to a prisoner exposed on the toy shelf of Surtur’s latest favourite things.

And she hated herself for it.

*

Clinking chains summed up her thoughts – today was the day! Originally she scraped together a calendar on the wall with single figures and a sharp-ended rock although that shortly collapsed when she could no longer tell day from night.  
“Six ante meridiem.” The guard – who wore an unusual amount of layering - spoke bluntly, scribbled on a note and then entered Amora’s cell after a series of unlocking.  
“All right, Brant, you chain her and I’ll take her.” The guard with the layers nodded to another guard who held a pair of handcuffs - to layer the first pair that successfully withdrew her magical abilities from her – and multiple chains that most likely were her next accessories.

“Understood.” He grunted and stumbled towards her, linking her clammy hands together, then following with the same actions on her ankles and neck. They weighed far more than her heart ever did.

The first guard followed his gaze to the robe lying crumpled it the corner, a thought crossed his face as he quickly lent over and picked it up off the floor. First, smoothing it out then draping it around her shoulders.

To be fair – and this was not one of Amora’s talents – she generously accepted a new garment the guards were obliged to give her. After all, she arrived in a thick coat from the coldest Realm to the most scorching. Accepting the revealing nightie and silk robe was high up on her list of kindest actions. Though she couldn’t speak for Surtur.  
Although, she wasn’t entirely certain on why they cared about her wellbeing, even now. Even ever. She didn’t even care to think about why Surtur gifted it to her, except it was obvious, she liked being special and exclusive though it was obvious how he feed his imprisoned slaves. The mousy-brown haired woman in the opposite cell wore a matching gown, dirtier and unwashed – like her hair.

She must become used to the feeling of not being the exclusive one anymore. She may hold a fight in the day, yet when the night beckoned it consumed her.

Today was fate’s hour. Today was the day she was dragged to commit.  
It was fate’s calling in this oh-so lonely hour.

 

*

Surtur’s grim face echoed with appease when he caught sight of her. Straightening up where he enthroned himself, he waved a hand gesture towards his guards and they separated, leaving Amora only just holding herself upright in the centre of the room.

Her robe had slipped from shoulders, another crumpled heap this time around her ankles. What she wore underneath drew a devilish smile to Surtur’s face – a lustful combination of dark, lacy corseted undergarments – and it made her stomach churn. Identical thorns protruding from his staff threatened to puncture her as she was not-so-nicely asked to identify as a slave. The guards shifted uneasily, and of course they did, it was apparent they were in the situation before, especially a situation with a long drawn out pause between question and answer.

Her drooping eyelids barely managed to keep up the competitive game of staring rounds with the ruler she was about the commit to.  
“My beauty, do not perish under this ground, join your ruler,” his extended grinning features nodded towards her “or deadly fate will have you.”

Amora winched at his words, her previous self would’ve knocked him off his throne and drawn wounds that would inflict terrible pain on him. However, she had been stripped of her past; her magic had been abruptly stolen from her, her inner walls were tumbling down and everything that breathed the word ‘Enchantress’ about her had vanished.  
Her current self was eager to oblige. If she would live her days imprisoned in a Realm that took her so easily, she would make it easy. The fight had slipped so briskly from her and she wasn’t going to retrieve it.

“What will it be, Beauty?” Words escaped his hollow mouth like venom, dripping with excitement “care to spend your life incarcerated or by my side? I speak truthfully when I say this, you’re appear to be much more than my past… beauties.”

His claw-like hand gestured to a seemingly empty corner of the shadowed throne room which made her ironically colder in a blistering fiery realm, through sparse candlelight Amora managed to perceive bodies lying amongst each other, skinny hands lying limp and frail. Delicate undergarments sewed them together, an unidentified bunch of bodies that were used and dumped. Quite literally. Overcome by fatigue each and every one of the females appeared dead, and Amora would’ve believed that if it weren’t for the whimpers that escaped them. She understood why the imprisoned magician below wouldn’t commit.

“Does thy commit?” Surtur bellowed, his past whispers upgrading to steadying roars that shook Amora’s core.

His eyes were flaming globes as their stirred madly in his head, his thorny staff pricked and stamped the ground multiple times - even his guards backed their paces steadily, avoiding utter madness as best they could.

“DOES THY COMMIT?”

Her forehead creased as her body ceased, her walls were broken down and enemies had flooded in; Surtur, Odin, Sigyn, Lorelei – even Loki, all at once. Attacking her, imprisoning her, hurting her, using her, betraying her, loathing her and worst of all, loving her.

Very well, her new suitor ought to use all of those above to his liking and currently, Amora was easily giving authority for him to do so. He forceful gaze down at her irked her, yet this was another aspect of him she must become used to. It was in her own best interest too, who even fought for anything anymore?

Slipping from sorceress to slave in a matter of months, Amora bravely conquered her own soul, everything about this situation was polar opposites to the mesmerising Enchantress – and she had held that title so long that she soon became it. Despite the ongoing crisis, the Enchantress would always be a part of her, an imprint on her skin which more recognisable than Amora, any day.

As a final question, Surtur impacted with one last deafening roar as he grew impatient that his question was unanswered.  
Thus her eyes swarmed with tears that she had no fight to hold back anymore, she only screamed back “Oh yes, yes I do!”  
Under her veiled composure, her compressed emotion unfolded into masses of realisation of what was happening. As she slowly succumbed herself to this monster, she would do so with a hint of Enchantress in her.

“I may be yours,” a devilish smirk crossed her features “though this means you are mine too, my ruler.”

Although, a matched darker smile became a permanent tattoo on his lips as he descended his throne, lanky legs furthering down the steps to greet his – bride?

Was this truly worth avoiding lashes and other extreme, vexatious torture methods?

She became cloaked in his stench as his wide arms slithered around her, grabbing and grasping parts that no other man without permission would dare to. He wasn’t loving when he traced the outline of her underwear, her awkwardly rubbed his fingers against the mesh as she drew a sigh. Pretending to be the unimpressed bride was better than the terrified one.

The sweet nothings were vulgar and of course, he like any other individual who did not typically wear corsets, had trouble undoing them. Amora found this quite laughable in a tedious way in such a distressing and possibly scarring situation. He fiddled with her hair just like others had done before – minus the tugging – as he motioned for his guards to leave.

Her brows drew, confused “Are they – “ she turned her head towards the tired and worn out female bodies that in the shadow, appeared as corpses “ – staying here?”  
A nasty whiff of his breath caught her as he drew a long pause before replying “Ah, they won’t ever be leaving, something you should become used to, yes?”  
He didn’t bother to wait for a following comment as his fluent tongue crept her neck, pressing open-mouthed – she couldn’t name these kisses if kisses were meant to be something of a sentiment - then past her ear, repeating whatever uncouth sayings came to mind in the heat of the situation.

With a squirm, she let her head tilt back, surveying the room as she scoped for a suitable spot to, eh, continue things. As the looked, she caught sight of one of the guards that hadn’t left when ordered to do so. He scurried around not even appearing frightened of what his ruler would do if he saw, hunting a particular item out – and as she studied him, she recognised him as the one who entered her cell earlier, the one who placed the robe back on her.  
He knew that she saw him. As the metal-clad guard rotated, facing her with an unusual but recognisable smirk she had seen before, he drew a sharp blade from his right hand and in his left. . . sparks?  
What in all the Nine Realms was he doing?  
The sparks weren’t the only significant odd part, he began marching towards Surtur in such a dignified fashion that if he weren’t a guard of Muspelheim, then he’d be –  
\- No.

A familiar ripple of emerald parted the guard and his actual form, the metallic body curled away from ugly bronze for an emerald that matched his eyes. Glossy hair that curtained his face made him appear more dangerous than ever, and his features criss-crossed into a mismatch of murderous feelings. A tender face she had held and called her own. She took it to herself to remind herself that she needed to politely thank the man one way or another.

She should've known by the dagger, and how it ripped through Surtur.  
Amora forced herself away from his clutch, he was transfixed with pain as his deforming body crunch under a blade as he not-so-prettily hit the ground with a grunt.  
She found herself staring at Surtur's body.  
And then at him.

Loki.


End file.
